Coffee Talk

I think it's time we had coffee because, well, any time is good to have coffee and I'm seriously dragging.

If we were having coffee ...

... it's likely to be after we ran together this morning. I met my BRF at the usual time but the not usual place for our usual distance 5 miles. It was a surprisingly cool morning – I believe the radio personality on the morning show quoted 49 – and it was amazing. The temperature was just low enough that I wondered whether a short-sleeve shirt would do (I stole Mark's from the 2010 Flying Pig half, if you are curious about fashion) but a half-mile in, it was perfect. 

... you might be enjoying a banana crumb muffin that I brought for you. I made a batch on Tuesday morning to share with the seniors who take Silver Sneakers at the Y. I've been subbing the class for the past three weeks as the usual instructor has been on vacation. The seniors are such a good, tight-knit group, and I sometimes feel like I'm crashing the party when I fill in. I made the muffins as a sign of appreciation, if anything, for putting up with my terrible jokes and interjections about my kids. Also, if you run with me, sometimes I bring muffins.

... I might be a wee bit honest. Although I love working with the seniors (I'd do it all day, every day if I could), I will be glad to get back to my schedule next week. While it's just a two-hour commitment a week, it cuts into my normal run time, which means I'm up early (4:30 a.m.) two to three times a week. It's getting easier but I really do miss sleeping "in" till 6. It doesn't help, either, that I've been filling in at the other gym and will teach eight classes over the course of six days this week. A lot of instructors might do that but not necessarily on top of a full-time job.

... I might catch you up on what my teaching schedule actually looks like now. I teach one class a day Monday through Thursday. Monday is a 9 a.m. tone and tighten class, Tuesday is a boot camp at 5:45 p.m., Wednesday is a 9 a.m. boxing fusion (all three at the Y) and Thursday is a 6:15 p.m. boxing fusion. I'm really having fun with it, and I feel like I'm in a decent groove. 

... I'd lament that the class load is affecting my running. Marathon training doesn't begin till July 2 and the 5K plan I'm following to fill in is manageable. However, I'd really like to get in a long run and I just haven't had the chance. I've either been teaching on the weekends or taking a legit rest day and, try as I might, I just can't convince myself to run 8 miles on a Monday morning. 

... I'd tell you that I almost ran 8 miles on Monday morning but I've been rather stressed and all of the anxiety accumulated in a pit in my stomach. I started having flashbacks to the Indy Mini so I kept it to 5 easy with strides, which was on my 5K plan. 

... I'd tell you that Miles broke one of my favorite mugs this morning. It was on the ledge of the bathtub because, obviously, everyone drinks coffee when they shower and he knocked it off when he went in to brush his teeth. Thankfully, it was not a Starbucks mug or I would have cried and me crying would have been bad because Miles was really upset. I got upset because I don't want him to be scared when an accident happens. I gave him a big hug and whispered to him that I loved him and he could tell Dad that I wasn't mad ... and there's this really cute mug at Starbucks. He giggled. And when Mark asked what was going on, Miles played it so well – he blamed Si and his insistence on making sure all of his parts have not fallen off at any opportunity.

... I'd tell you that having boys is equal parts rewarding and disgusting, and I say things that no one should ever have to say. And I fear it's only going to get worse.

... I'd make sure to show you a recent picture of the cutie-patooties before we said our goodbyes. Because, yes, I am that mom.

You can't pick your brother but you can pick your brother's nose. #project366

A photo posted by Kimberly (@foot.notes) on Jun 6, 2016 at 5:05am PDT

On My Mind

I was going to write this post as a "Three Things Thursday" but I think I have more than three random things to share. Because I have thoughts. Lots of them.

• On Saturday, in the midst of prepping a dinner/early birthday for Mark party, I had the brilliant idea to clean out the cabinet above my stove. Good or bad, wrong or right, it's the place I store vinegars, some spices, baking ingredients and other seasonings that don't seem to have a place. It was a good clean as I uncovered many things that I had bought for a single recipe and totally forgot about – vanilla sugar, unflavored gelatin, pumpkin spice pudding mix. All of it was expired. But the best thing about the effort was not a clean cabinet, albeit nice, was that I found the bladder to my Nathan hydration vest.

::cue chorus of angels::

I had placed the pack in the basement to wash (where it's still waiting) and placed the bladder somewhere for safe keeping. The problem was that I didn't remember where that safe place was. I had looked for it in vain before the HUFF and was quite close to buying a replacement on Amazon. It was not ridiculously expensive, in the $25 range, but it seemed unnecessary if there was one in my house.

As it turns out, it was in the drawer with the kitchen towels buried underneath the linens. I'm not sure I want to use it quite yet – there's a year of drawer funk to contend with . I just need to pick up a cleaning kit and actually do it ... before I lose the bladder again.

• Now, back to the party. I like to have a theme for get-togethers so that, if anything, the menu is cohesive. For Saturday night, I set my sights on a grown-up pizza party. I made two batches of homemade crust and four pies. We had a traditional sausage and mushroom to suit the less adventurous and for the rest, there was a Philly chicken pie, a jalapeno popper version and a pear and gorgonzola variety. I had the latter three and they were amazing. To round it out, I served one of those chopped salads from the produce section.

• Mark's actual birthday is Friday, and I am tasked with making his favorite treat – a chocolate raspberry cake. It's a process. Not a difficult one but just enough work that I only do it once a year. As for his gift, I'm really excited about it. He reads here so I won't share just yet but there is a story, and I plan to divulge it next week.

• This morning, I had the lovely pleasure of going to the dentist. I'm lying. It wasn't a pleasure. I hate it. I have terrible teeth, and they always want me to do something. Two years ago, it was fill the gap between my front teeth. Last year, I had to have old silver fillings replaced. Anyway. When the hygienist called me back, I had that nagging feeling I knew her. I hadn't seen her there before but elsewhere. As it turns out, she used to take my Piloxing classes. When I made the connection, the first thing I thought was: Thank goodness, I waxed my mustache.

• At my appointment, I got dinged for not flossing the right way. I don't get to my back teeth well enough, and the picks apparently are inferior to actual floss. Actual floss hugs the teeth as you floss. You want to hug your teeth.When the hygienist told me this, I felt rather defensive. I wanted to shout, "Well, you really should squat like this." Except she wasn't doing squats and her form could very well be good.

Excuse me now. My molars asked for an embrace.

Sunday.

I left the house yesterday for precisely 37 minutes. It was 37 minutes to drive three-quarters of a mile to my neighborhood Kroger for the two things I chose not to buy on Thursday and one more item to be prudent.

Bananas. Milk. Eggs. Always more eggs.

But walking into the store and after getting Si into the cart, I saw a giant cardboard box filled with squash. Acorn, butternut, spaghetti. Organic stickers stuck to the thick skins of the tiny vegetables.

The sign said 4 for $1. Four pounds of organic winter squash for a dollar. And so my plans changed.

I filled up my cart, toeing the line of buying enough to feel like I got a great deal and not so much that I was greedy. Either way, I bought a lot.

I made mental notes of what I could make with the squash as I pushed Si up and down the aisles. Mark and Miles were at Sunday school and church, and I had nursed Si before leaving. We could take our time.

Soup, I though. Butternut squash enchiladas. Purees for Si. Up until now, I've been giving him Gerber. I had made all of the purees for Miles but with No. 2, I decided that I didn't need another thing on my plate. For 25 cents a pound, though, I could be enticed.

Muffins. Could I make butternut squash muffins?

But soup. Definitely soup. Curry soup. Spicy southwestern soup. Butternut squash apple soup.

Apples. Apple pie. My father-in-law. His favorite dessert is apple pie.

And from there, my day, a day with no direction, took a clear turn. I steered Si toward produce and grabbed a bag of green apples. We headed toward the meat aisle for steak to make Beef Stroganoff. I grabbed iced tea.

We were going to make Papa dinner.

I enlisted Miles to help, as he is always curious in the kitchen and an enthusiastic sous chef. I peeled and chopped apples, while he "peeled" and ate apples. He added in the cinnamon, sugar and butter. I formed mini pie shells in a muffin tin. Miles filled the cups to the brim with our mixture. He painted on the egg mixture to our top layer of dough, and I pressed it on. We cut slits. And baked.

The house smelled like cinnamon. Sugar. Fall.

Fall.

Outside, Mark was raking leaves. Leaves from a tree that is mysterious to us. But they crunch as you walk through the lawn.

Silas was happy to observe on the fine specimen of a fall afternoon. Warm, not hot, with still a bite in the air. The sun was bright. The trees were afire. The sky was cloudless. He smiled as he played in his exersaucer and laughed hysterically as his brother tromped through his father's handiwork toward him.

I sat, outstretched, soaking in the vitamin D. Just for a brief moment. Soup was on the stove. First round: Butternut Squash Apple Soup. A second pot had turkey sausage marinara. In the slow cooker, Beef Stroganoff was cooking.

The house felt warm. And loved.

When dinner came, we filled glasses with water and bowls with noodles and tender beef. The pies cooled on the sideboard and the light from our Jack o' Lanterns flickered in the picture window.

It was the picture of a perfect fall dinner.

Save for the toddler drunk hour, sponsored by Daylight Saving Time. Miles scurried furiously around the house, from the table to the stairs to the floor to the table. First he drew then scribbled portraits of the adults. Si screeched from his Bumbo, demanding more peas.

I wished my water into vodka. When I took a sip, my shoulders slumped. Still water.

The coffee pot began to sputter, hot decaf dripping into the carafe. Vanilla ice cream rolled off the scoop and perfectly sized pies sat in the middle of white plates.

Dinner was almost over. I sipped my coffee. The perfect complement to the dessert. The day.

Sunday Shopping

People love to wax on about Whole Foods and Trader Joe's but do you want to know what store I love?

Menards. Mother effing Menards.

For the unfamiliar, Menards is a home improvement store at its core but, in reality, it's so much more. After all, where else can you buy hydraulic cement, Asiatic lilies, Ball jars and toothpaste?

Wet and wild

The hydraulic cement was, hands down, the least favorite thing to purchase. We are having an unusually wet start to summer with inches of raining falling in a single day. It was a near miracle that my friends and I found a dry window to run on Saturday.

3 miles at sunrise

Not only has the rain wreaked havoc on our outdoor activities but our basement. We live in an old house (built in 1935) and like many in this area, rich with clay soil, we have problems with water. The amount and ferocity of the rain showers we have had is only highlighting the problem. Mark has been busy working to do some damage control, using the hydraulic cement to patch problem areas and sealing it with a special paint.

In full bloom

One of the things that we've also done to help the basement is fill in and improve our landscaping. It has been no easy job as the previous owner had created six flower beds in the front yard and was quite fond of ivy and vinca. We've had to dig and pull, pull and dig to get up the invasive ground cover so we could replant.

Denali for the photobomb

My mother-in-law gets most of the credit for the improvements we've made, as she's helped plan and plant the areas. We've added a lot of hostas, salvia and daylilies but are now looking for some plants to add more color and dimension.

Sort of like the Asiatic lilies I found on clearance for $1! I grabbed six and will figure out where to put them soon. Funny enough, before I went to Menards on Sunday, I told Mark that I was going to spend $100 on plants – an easy task for me. I think he was scared that I was serious so he was happy that I capped it at $6.

Screwed

One of the hardest parts of going back to work has been streamlining my mornings so I'm not rushing to get everything together. And by everything I mean: my pump, pump parts, reading material, lunch, snacks, change of clothes if I'm teaching, beverages, snacks.

It's helped to get my lunch together the night before and, for the most part, I've been going with leftovers. My friend has really been into the jar salads that you can make on Sunday and eat for the week. I had been avoiding them because, well, they were too trendy but I finally gave in and bought the jars.

$9.99 for a dozen wide-mouth quart-size Ball jars ... save big money at Menards ... ha.

Thanks to Pinterest, I found a few recipes that sounded interesting. Wait. Can you actually call them recipes? It's mostly throw some crap in a jar in the right order, isn't it?

Anyway. I found some I might like – a Southwest style salad, Cobb, Greek – but I decided to go with an Asian Noodle for the first go around.

I was able to get them prepped while I made dinner Sunday, and it was a relief to have lunches ready to grab and go. I had one Monday, and it was good. The noodles sort of clumped together but otherwise it was just like I made it on Sunday. The only thing I'd do differently is sub the iceberg (what we had) for spinach and add some peanuts and chicken. Because peanuts are good and salty and chicken for protein.

I'm curious as to whether the salads will lose their appeal but I figure I should a) get a few weeks out of the idea; b) I can always use canning jars; and c) the price beats my deli per-pound favorite.

My Life on Instagram

A stockpile of pancakes in the freezer = Best idea ever. I topped them with sliced banana and blueberry-lime jam from the farmers market.

I'm such a proud mama. Miles is totally nailing his workout nutrition. On our family walk on Tuesday, he had some fruit snacks before we started and then requested applesauce 0.1 mile in. He stayed hydrated with some juice – Tinkerbell lid, of course – and my Nuun. As for me, I was just glad my trucker hat camouflaged the ridiculous circles under my eyes and my hoodie sort of covered the belly.

Vegetables at lunch! It's such a novelty lately but anything cooked (think: steamed broccoli or green beans) just turns my stomach. When I think of salads, I wince at the thought of spring mix and spinach. Thankfully, romaine and iceberg are appealing even if they aren't the most nutritionally dense. I topped my salad with tuna salad and called it a meal.

After my second salad of the day, we went to grab ice cream with my in-laws. I swear the last time we went, Miles was a baby. Not anymore. I can't even ... he just kills me. He's lucky, too, because this morning he told me "I just don't want to be around you right now."

Do you follow on Instagram? Check out other random photos HERE. Also, share your profile in the comments so I can follow you!

Winter Skin Care Tip + Other Randomness

I am not sure it's possible to tell you how excited I am to see this:

Yes, my friends, that is the forecast for Fort Wayne. It's a forecast that includes low temperatures warmer than the highs we've had this week. It's ridiculous and well deserved.

As much as I look forward to watching Miles ride his tricycle after dinner and taking walks, I'm most anxious to see an improvement in my skin. It is dry, cracked and almost permanently red. If I was more ambitious and had less respect for you, I'd take a picture ... but I'm only half-way through my {decaf} latte and want you to continue reading.

So, no picture.

I think the only thing that has saved my skin is a tube of NAAWK medicated lip balm that I keep in my front console. Every time I get in the car, I apply the balm to my lips and then the worst spots on my hands, mostly the knuckles. It's probably unsanitary, so I apologize, but the balm gives my hands the protection they need on mornings like today when it is 10. TEN DEGREES on March 6.

Whatever. Moving on.

Feed me. We usually pick up dinner or go out to eat on Fridays. However, we're going out to lunch tomorrow after our hospital tour, and Mark and I deemed it prudent to eat in tonight. The only hiccup in this plan, as I discovered this morning, is that we have no food. After we cleaned out the fridge, ahead of garbage pickup, all that remained was bare shelves. I used the last of the jelly this morning for Miles' 300th morning snack – a PB&J – because it was either that or a second bag of fruit snacks. Let's just say that I'm going to have to do some serious planning and list writing before I hit the grocery this weekend.

Rest up. Also on the agenda this weekend: Sleep. We had a sick dog this week, and we were up two nights with him. The night that Denali seemed OK was also the night that Miles decided to be awake for two hours. It happens, it's life, it's not the end of the world ... I know. And I recognize it's going to get a whole lot worse soon but dang, it was rough – and it showed on my face.

Big time. My fatigue hit me big time during my Thursday night boot camp slot. I was on the mat leading a stretch, and my eyelids were so heavy that they shut. Thankfully, I didn't actually fall asleep. For long. Maybe just a few seconds.

An aside, every time I walk in for that class, the instructor of the outgoing session likes to tell me how much bigger I've gotten. Yes, I am bigger this week. It's called GROWING A HUMAN. Dude is gaining a half-pound a week. What am I supposed to do? Suck it in.

That's all for now, friends. Happy Friday! And Happy Last Work Day of the Longest Week Ever!

How did your week fare?

Standing Strong: Resolving to Take Control

Do you know how to advocate for yourself, when it really matters?

It was one of my mom's favorite stories to tell, and it was not because it was particularly funny or embarrassing. Rather, it was a story of will and knowing what was right. It was a story of sticking to my principles, even if it didn't seem to be in my best interest.

I was in second grade. Precocious and self-assured. And definitely a mother hen to both my brother and cousin, who were in kindergarten.

It was Monday, and we were riding the bus from school to daycare. It was the start of a new drop-off for us. No longer would a day care helper meet the bus several blocks from the site but the bus would drop us at the center. I knew this, having been carefully instructed by my mother, as did my brother and cousin.

The person who didn't know? The bus driver. He pulled up to our old stop and waited for us to get off. But we did not. I told him that we were supposed to go to the daycare now and no one was there to meet us. Still, he insisted we get off. I held my ground, making sure the boys did not budge.

The driver called the transportation office, and the school, daycare and parents became involved. Still, I stood on that bus and refused to get off. It wasn't until some time later, when a daycare worker met us, that I willingly moved.

Even though I caused a great many headaches that day, I often look back to that story and almost revel. It's not because I think what I did was awesome but because I wonder what happened to that girl. How did I go from self-assured and almost indignant to meek and unwilling to stand up for myself?

Case in point: My most recent experience with physical therapy. When I went to my first visit, I shared that I was going to a new-to-me place that specialized in women's issues, e.g. pelvic floor strength, pregnancy. I was hopeful that going to such a place would not only be beneficial but speed along my recovery. I left cautiously optimistic that my case of piriformis syndrome could be treated and I would see consistent improvement from session to session.

But that optimism quickly faded after the second session. The hourlong appointment, which began nearly a half-hour late, was spent learning how to squat, pick up tables and carry shopping bags. Once I had adequately demonstrated proper form (on the first try), there was soft-tissue therapy for 10 minutes and I was left to stretch on my own. I limped out in more pain than I left.

No pain, no gain? Right? It's how I tried to reassure myself as I headed in for the next appointment, resolving to be positive. Again, the appointment was late and most of the session was spent learning to do every day tasks. This time, it was vacuuming – which I had told her that I don't do. Seriously, I don't. Feel free to nominate Mark for husband of the year.

I had another 10 minute soft tissue treatment, during which I listened to her talk about her dog escaping an invisible fence. It was boring but better than the previous session's conversation that was about a "difficult to please" patient. I contributed politely but the whole time I wondered about why I couldn't speak up and take ownership of the session. I was, after all, paying for the therapy and I deserved to get out of it what I needed. I didn't need to learn how to vacuum. I needed my butt to feel better so that I could walk and feel good and be a good mom. I didn't need her to tell me about dogs or patients; I needed her to advise me about additional solutions for my piriformis pain and how to cope until I found relief.

I walked out that day frustrated and limping, still. The  pain stung with each step, and I resolved that I was not going back and I haven't. But I could not help but wonder: Where was that girl who could stand up and say no? Where was she when I needed to say, "I don't think what you are doing is right, and I deserve for it to be so"?

I know she is there, I do. I just need to learn how to find her, and I intend to spend the next six weeks doing so. As I embark on a VBAC, I will have to be my own advocate. I will have to be sure of myself and what I'm doing.

And though this post seems like a long-winded way of complaining about my PT experience, it's more of a plea – to myself and you. There are times when we know things are not the way they should be. It is up to you to demand better and, not only that, but to be prepared to do so.

Five for Friday

It was a milestone.

On Wednesday, I walked down the hallway to the far away bathroom and I didn't feel a pang until I was halfway there. I almost stopped to do a happy dance but I figured that it would not be socially acceptable to pop, lock and drop it in a place of business.

Also, I don't think I could get up.

1. So, yes, after two weeks of frustration, I am starting to see improvement with my piriformis. I still have discomfort even just walking but the pain is less severe and my gait is improving. As Mark told me, my waddle isn't so gimpy.

2. I changed up quite a few things this week to see whether it would improve the situation but I would be hard-pressed to say that X, Y and Z helped but not F, G, H. I'm even hesitant to share because I don't want anyone to mistake what I'm doing for actual advice.

But, for the sake of honesty, here's my self-prescribed therapy: I quit going to the actual physical therapist, stopped incorporating pigeon into my stretching routine and eliminated sugary treats. I added cherry juice, epsom salts, Deep Blue doTERRA oil and began using my Tiger Tail before doing my new stretches.

3. Thankfully, I've been able to teach my classes and the regulars have been understanding if I'm doing a modification or switching things up. Last night, though, I had a HILARIOUS moment. A newcomer to boot camp gave me the strangest look and just sort of stared. I asked if she was OK and she seemed hesitant to answer. Then, almost stuttering, she asked if I was pregnant.

Why yes, yes I a.m. It's sort of obvious at this point, especially with a Fort4Fitness tee strained over my belly and being relegated to wearing Mark's sweats.

"You're not doing this are you?" she asked.

No, no I'm not. But only because of my bum bum, I thought. There's nothing in this particular workout that I couldn't or shouldn't do. (It was a fun 30-20-10 workout, AMRAP style. Six minutes to complete as many sets as possible of three exercises. The first exercise, a cardio style, had 30 reps; the second exercise, large muscle group, had 20 reps; and a balance or core exercise was last with 10 reps. I think we got through four different groups of exercises in the 45 minutes.)


Anyway, it just made me laugh that people see the belly and think I can't work out.

4. While I'm anxious to be 100 percent and resume all physical activity, I have to say that this down time has been nice. I've been able to sleep in, relax (somewhat) and do more with the family. Novel, I tell you.

This morning, for example, Mark wasn't feeling great and stayed home. He and Miles played video games while I hung prints and curtains in baby boy's room.

5. And because babies are more fun to talk about, I am *this* close to being done with the room. I just need to touch up the paint on the dresser and bookshelf and get a few more decorations. The theme is dinosaurs but I'm trying not to be overly cutesy. On the book shelf, I want to display some 3-D dinosaur puzzles and I might get one more thing to hang.

Also, I need to buy baby socks ... because I had a dream that I didn't have enough.

Snow Day Scenes

When it was all said and done, Fort Wayne got 9 inches of snow, maybe 10. It wasn't quite the snow event I was anticipating but it was still a lot of snow.

We managed to get out for church before the bulk of it but we were otherwise homebound for Sunday.

To pass the time, we baked.

I had a wonderful, enthusiastic helper for some "chip" cookies (butterscotch, M&M and chocolate), and I made a loaf of cheddar thyme bread. I started with THIS RECIPE from a Betty Crocker cookbook – an actual book, such a novelty – but made some tweaks. I used cheddar and thyme instead of asiago and rosemary, and I subbed the bread flour for all purpose plus 1 tablespoon of vital wheat gluten.

We played in the snow. Of course.

I mostly watched as Miles and Mark tried to sled – the nearby hill isn't steep enough – and Miles hung out with a friend nearby. I picked up a shovel for all of 5 minutes before Mark stole it from me. Hmph.

And when it got too cold, we headed back inside for a few rounds of Candy Land and to put together puzzles. I should note that Mark was not doing the dinosaur puzzle by himself. Miles had abandoned it for another dinosaur puzzle, and it just needed to be put away.

The funny thing about the day was that I was so worried that we would be bored that the opposite happened. I didn't sit down until after dinner, having filled the day with so much. (I also painted baby boy's dresser and book shelf while the boys watched TV.)

And so, as Mark cleaned up, I collapsed on the couch with "Property Brothers" and a cookie, Miles cuddled in next to me.

Perfect ending to a perfect day.

A Look at the Power of Words

"If you have don't something nice to say, don't say anything at all."

It's the something we've all heard, whether it's from a grandma, parent and teacher. Understandably so, as it's sage advice. However, I've been wondering whether we need to say something at all – even if it is nice.

As a pregnant woman, it seems someone always has a comment. "You look so small!" "How many weeks do you have left? Oh. Really?" "You look like you are carrying a boy."

Each is said with a look toward my belly. Each is said as a reference toward my appearance.

The more I've taken in the statements and the more I've sought grace in doing so, I've noticed that the things we say – the good things – are in reference to how we look.

"I love how you did your hair today."

"Your outfit is really cute."

"Did you wear makeup today? It looks nice."

"Are those new boots?"

I will often say things like this to a co-worker or friend, even a passer-by on the street, because I think it's important to acknowledge people. I don't know if they are having a good day or a bad day or whether anyone has said something nice to them. I remember days at this time last year when I was struggling with depression and having a tough time that a single compliment would be enough to get me through the day.

But even with the best intentions, it's all superficial. We're not bolstering someone as a person or supporting her spirit. We are, in a way, giving the message that we so often try not to: it matters how you look. To me. It does.

I've considered how to change this, in my own approach to saying nice things. I could tell someone that she has a nice smile or a gentleman that he had a great laugh. But, coming from a stranger, it honestly sounds creepy – at best.

When I talk to Miles, I try not to tell him how cute he looks, a difficult task because I'm so in love with him. I try to share with him that I am appreciative of the little person he is. I emphasize the things that make my heart happy, whether it's him saying that when his baby brother is born that he'll "try to hold his hand" or sharing a book with friends.

Yet, the interesting thing is that when he says something nice, to me, it's not about who I am or the things I do. It's the lesson I'm trying to avoid.

"Mommy, you look beautiful today."

Tell me: Am I thinking too much about this? How do you share something nice with others?

Currently

Borrowing this idea from fellow Pro Compression ambassador Lora at Crazy Running Girl because ... why not.

Currently ...

OBSESSED with "Serial." The podcast is a spin-off of "This American Life," a long time favorite of mine, and looks at one-story — a 1999 murder case  — over its season. It's been popular from the start, a fact some of you were probably hip to, and incredibly addictive. I've binge listened to the available episodes — so much so that I find reasons to drive just to listen. I'm on No. 8, "The Deal with Jay," and will be lost when I'm caught up.

SAD that my lunch is gone. In what was probably an excuse to listen to "Serial," I decided to venture just a bit outside downtown and go to one of my favorite spots for an udon bowl. Udon noodles, shredded carrots, bean sprouts, cucumber, basil, peanuts, avocado and crispy pork belly. My friends, it doesn't get much better. If you ask why the pork belly, I ask you why not. The spot has more healthful offerings, depending on your definition, but its known for its duck and pork belly. I usually go for the duck but getting the pork belly allowed me to pay with cash.

IN LOVE with these socks from Pro Compression. I know not everyone likes to dress up for races or running but I do love adding some spirit to my outfits. I like to do it for my classes, especially. You can use code SNOW to save 40 percent or use BLG14 to save 40 percent on any marathon socks or sleeves. While you're at it, just check out Pro's new site. It looks really nice!

CONTEMPLATING running the Gingerbread Pursuit next weekend just so I have a reason to wear the new SOM. My pair is already on the way — it's just a matter of choosing where to wear them. The race is 4 miles and the extended forecast is reasonable, which are two big pluses in the pro column. However, as Mark stressed, I can participate in the event but I can't race it. It might be challenging mentally and physically to take part when I'm not at my best.

ENAMORED with my boys. I might have been a teensy weensy bit disappointed that Baby X is a boy but I quickly got over it when I was reminded just how sweet of a child I have. A child who is a boy. Miles is very complimentary, telling me that my freshly painted nails are beautiful or that I look pretty today or that he loves me. He doesn't hesitate to give hugs and will enthusiastically tell me to, "Watch this," as he gives me a huge squeeze.

Mark isn't so bad, either. Filed under the "we've been married long enough" category, he surprised me with an early Christmas gift — a new quilt and shams for the bed. I've never liked the duvet and cover we got as a wedding gift (hassle and a half) and our sheets have seen better days. The new set is like a makeover for the room!

DRINKING three things: Nuun All-Day, La Croix and decaf coffee. I make no sense but I am staying hydrated. The La Croix is a big treat because I'm usually too cheap to buy it at the store but a co-worker bought some and didn't like it. She's nice and shared.

PLANNING to run tonight. In a sly move to maintain my sanity over the holidays, I'm skipping dinner with the in-laws (Mark and Miles will go) and running with Denali. A bit of quiet time (or time with "Serial") will do my mind and body some good. It looks like the #RWRunStreak is on ... for now.

ARRANGING some giveaways for you great readers. Stay tuned next week.

Your turn! Answer, Currently ...

Say what? I talk about running too much

How often do you talk about running/working out?

Larger than life Kim/Flat Kim/Cut out Kim — aka Kassondra — recently came to work with me so could entertain my co-workers and get the heck out of what will be Baby X's room.

At first, we were at a bit of a loss as to what to do with her but a manic day that required some comic release gave us a few options. We hid her in the supply closet and in the corner of people's offices. She stood in my place when I went to lunch and in the corner when she was on time out (aka getting on my nerves). We snuck behind co-workers' chairs and left her there, only for them to turn around in shock.

Over the course of the week, her home became next to the white board. It was out of the way and not incredibly startling. It also gave people the chance to write what Kassondra was thinking.

I don't think much over the course of the day beyond, "Where's the coffee?" buy my work husband devised the longest-lasting message.

"Hey - did you know I run?"

Let it be said that my work husband is not a runner nor is he particularly interested in it — unless it's a passive agressive commentary or the butt of a joke. Also let it be said that I chuckled.

And then, I thought. Do I talk about running too much?

I really try to limit the fodder and stories to my running circle, conversations with Mark and posts here but it does permeate my life. My stories often start with "I met Tami for a run and ..." or "I was on a run when ..." or "I came home from running and ..."

I can't help it, though. By the time I get to work, one of three things has likely happened — my spirited child, whom I love dearly, has made me crazy, I went for a run or I taught class. What else am I going to talk about? Miles questioning why I call him Miles because, obviously, he is Batman.

OK, I talk about that, too. Who wouldn't? He's cute and far funnier than I am.

For me, it's hard not to share that part of my life. I don't think of myself as someone who runs but a runner. It's who I am and the miles course through my veins. To not talk about it would be ignoring hat.

Note: I could always pick up a hobby like crocheting and then I can talk about how often I hook.

Today

Today I ... saw a fox as I was driving to meet Tami for our run date. At least I think it was a fox. I'm not sure I've ever seen one in real life.

If you were curious about what he said, it was something along the lines of, "What the hell is that massive thing coming at me? I think I might die!"

Today I ... ran in tights in long sleeves because that's what I packed last night but I should have ran in capris and short sleeves. It was 56 degrees at 5:15 a.m. Sunday, for reference, was in the 20s.

Today I ... learned what it means to run against the wind. For 2.5 miles out, Tami and I faced a brutal headwind that made it difficult to breathe, to move. We were going to cut the outing at 4 (running 2 miles out then heading back) but I said that we should run to the stop sign and then Tami convinced me to run to the turnaround for 5 miles. I agreed but only if she let me pause le Garmin to rest and breathe for a few seconds.

Today I ... voted. I used to be so passionate about voting and my civic duty but my interest has waned over the past couple years. I was almost going to skip my visit to the polls but Mark reminded me that we had state senators on the ballot, and the state legislators make big decisions in education. (Mark is a teacher). I took Miles with me, and he charmed the pants off all of the old ladies while I pressed the buttons. We were in and out in 15 minutes.

Today I ... subbed a senior fitness class. It was, by far, the most relaxed I've been teaching in quite some time. The workout was a departure from what I'm used to but I so enjoyed the women in the class. In past mini-dramas about whether I'm cut out for group fitness, I considered special population certifications and working with older people. Today made me think I should have done more than consider. (Note: I still like teaching boot camp and other classes but I think my days working as a server at Cracker Barrel really endeared me to seniors.)

Today I ... am grateful for leftovers. With a run early this morning, voting and subbing a class, I didn't have much time to pack a lunch. I grabbed whatever storage container I could and hoped for the best. I ended up with a half-piece of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans.

Today I ... am happy that I managed to get dinner in the slow cooker. I am trying to do a version of this Chicken Parmesan Casserole. I put the chicken chunks and marinara in the crock (on low for 8 hours), and I'll cover it with cheese and bread crumbs when I get home and put it under the broiler. While it's doing it's thing, I'll make a side of penne and broccoli.

Today I ... picked a winner for my No Treat challenge. Meghan R. will be emailed  and be the recipient of a sweet prize (purchased by me) that includes my favorite sugar-free snacks, such as Gingerbread Larabars, Nuun All-Day and Snapea Crisps.

Now you answer: Today I ...

The Ride Up: Elevator Woes {A What Would You Do Post}

Warning: This post will most definitely include ranting and most likely cursing. Proceed as you will.

It was another day grabbing lunch at the hospital.

I had good intentions, of course, of packing food today but time got away. One moment, it was 7:10 a.m. and I was taking a bath with Hulk, Iron Man and Miles and the next moment it was 8:30. A shot of adrenaline shoots straight from my brain to my ass to get it moving. I had a midwife appointment at 9:15 clear on the other side of two but they like to tell you it's 15 minutes earlier in reminders. So, I think I have a half-hour to get Miles in the car, drive to daycare, get Miles into daycare, kiss him goodbye and drive a half-hour to the office. It's not going to happen, I know, but I can do my best to be only a little bit late. However, Miles doesn't get the memo about "we need to go now" and is asking what he can take to daycare. A sword? A pumpkin? A cuddly. Kid, just get in the damn car. We need to go.

And, so, yeah, I didn't pack my lunch.

Just after noon, my work husband and I head to get lunch. We walk less than two blocks into the hospital, maneuver through the small ER and take the elevator to the basement. We navigate the crowd of people, select the best of the worst and begin to make our way back.

On the elevator.

We follow a small throng of female workers into the small space. "Six!" "Four, please." "What floor do you need?"

"One," we tell her.

And that's when it happened. The "it" that has me feeling stabby and defensive and all "I need to blog about this for validation."

A woman in the back corner, wearing dark blue scrubs and carrying a Styrofoam container, spoke up. "You could have probably taken the stairs for one."

"Yeah, I could have," I tell her.

"You know, you probably should have," she tells my work husband and me.

Uh, excuse me. I know what I should and should not do – not you. So why don't you hold yourself together and shut the front door?

Now, I will say that taking the stairs is a nice idea. I do it – sometimes. Other times, I don't really feel like it. I want to hold my food and stand in one place while a machine moves me to another place. It's easier, definitely, and in terms of proximity to exits, the elevator is more convenient.

Plus, I really fucking hate climbing steps. I know, I know. I have no problem running 5 miles – I even like doing it – but walking steps makes me tired.

I had no idea how to react to the woman. I felt agitated and defensive. How dare she judge me for my choices? So I said the most ridiculous thing in the most ostentatious voice I could summon.

"Well, I got up at 5 a.m. and ran 5 miles."

And then I walked out.

Tell me: What would you have done? And if you tell me take the stairs, I will ... umm ... not share my flank steak that was surprisingly delicious.

Soup to ... oh, nuts

As I walked into Aldi over the weekend, I was optimistic at best and delusional at worst.

I had won a $10 gift card on Twitter for answering a question about chili, and I thought what better way to use it than to make a chili of my own. Specifically, a barbecue white chicken chili that had been occupying far too much brain space after a friend got some at my favorite downtown deli.

Optimistic: I was going to make a great soup based off my favorite white chicken chili recipe that I would want to eat and eat and eat and share and share and share.

Delusional: Aldi would fall in love with the recipe and would see such genius that the company would want to build a relationship ala the big bloggers.

Note: The delusion reminds of the fantasies that I had in high school that I would meet Johnny Rzeznik at a Goo Goo Dolls concert and he would fall madly in love with me and we would get married. While I did go to two Goo Goo Dolls concerts that summer, there was no backstage meeting.

I grabbed the ingredients for the chili - white beans, corn, fire-roasted tomatoes and chicken. I also purchased some tomato paste to make my own barbecue sauce, which would be the key to the dish. I had considered using Aldi-bought but, unfortunately, all of the ones I looked at had high fructose corn syrup. Plus, making my own sauce would elevate the dish from home cook to blog worthy.

I made the sauce as I cooked dinner that night and then threw everything in the slow cooker to do its thing overnight and be ready for my week of lunches.

Optimistic: It would taste OK.

Delusional: The less than stellar sauce would come through the way I wanted it in the soup.

The verdict? Realistic. Where did that factor in?

The soup was good - well, good enough. I was disappointed that the barbecue sauce didn't come through. Rather, it disappeared into the background and added a little something but not much. It tasted like chili with chicken.

So it seems that my future as an Aldi-sponsored blogger is grim but I did have enough soup to share with my mother-in-law. Brownie points with her might be just as good.

Share: What are your kitchen fails?

Things you didn't want to know {A Three Things Thursday post}

1. One of the side effects, symptoms, happy rewards of pregnancy is that the belly isn't the only thing that grows. The blobs of fat that sit atop the pectoralis major muscles do as well. I have gone from a barely there A cup to a full C. And though it's not particularly bothersome, it has created a new set of challenges.

I was running with BRF Tami on Wednesday morning in a sports bra that had served its purpose just fine during previous runs. It's comfortable and easy to slip on from overhead, which is exactly why I had selected it the night before. We had gotten no farther than a half-mile when I declared that this run would be the bra's farewell. I am fairly surprised that everything stayed as it should - contained - and I was thankful for the dark skies of the early morning so no motorists could see the atrocity of the bouncing.

Other sports bras, while able to keep movement to a minimum, have been just as problematic as they are tight and uncomfortable. Some so much so that I can find it hard to find a good breathing pattern in the early minutes of a run.

Foundation garments for workouts should be replaced every six months, according to my local running store expert, so it seems that I need to get a new set for the duration of Baby X's gestation. Any recommendations for supportive and easy to put on garments are greatly appreciated.

2. I'm fairly certain that I have a toe nail preparing to say its goodbyes. The second toe on my right foot, per the usual. I noticed that it was feeling awful tender this weekend, and I'm blaming the hills of Kentucky. I should also blame myself for wearing my Saucony Fastwitch on said downhills as they offer less support. I am hoping to coerce the Boss into sending me to the salon for a pedicure to see what happens with some TLC and trimming.

3. I got my hair today, with my stylist lopping off my mullet. As I do my best to grow out last year's pixie experiment, I've found that the worst part is the little rat tail that seems to appear just 10 days before my appointment. Though I often feel nostalgic for the 1980s and my childhood, I'm not that nostalgic and would be more fulfilled to find a small curling iron and do my bangs.

Share: What are your "who cares" tidbits?

***

Deal alert: October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and Pro Compression is taking note. With your purchase of any products featured on this page, including any color Women's Leggings, we will donate a portion of each sale to the Breast Cancer Research Foundation.

 Save 40 percent when you enter coupon code PINK at checkout. Free shipping is available for your purchase over $20 (after discount), shipped to your US address. The leggings are an especially rad deal as they are already on sale for $50. I have a pair and love them for workouts. They don't have compression, making them comfortable and easy to wear. They fit true to size - I purchased a 6, which is what I also get from lululemon.

When Your GPS Is An A$$hole

I felt like I was working. W-O-R-K-I-N-G. When I looked down at my Garmin 220, though, the effort was not matching the pace. It was showing 9:15, 9:30, and I was sure I was going a minute faster.

Beep. Beep beep. Beep beep beep.

A symphony of dings went off as we headed toward the baseball diamonds at Foster Park during the JP Jones 10K on Sunday, indicating one mile was done. My watch didn't beep until 20 seconds later.

I wasn't running close enough to anyone during the remaining miles to know how my laps matched with others but by the end of the 10K, which measured correctly for every one, my Garmin read 5.99.

"It happens," I thought, apparently during any 10K I run this summer. (My watch was ridiculously off when I set my PR in August.)

On Tuesday, I headed out for a steady-state workout: 2-mile warm-up, 4 miles at marathon pace (8:50) and 1-mile cool down.

I was mindful to start slow, and I kept any eye on the Garmin to make sure I was in the right spot. And I was. I hit the first mile in 9:41 and the second in 9:42. Perfect.

But as I hit the goal pace miles, things just seemed off. Again, pace was not matching effort. The first mile was 9:11 but maybe my legs were still recovering from a tough weekend. I might have to work harder, I thought. So I did. The second MP mile came in at 8:46.

"OK, better," I thought. "It's fine.

The third mile was 9:30, and I knew that wasn't right. It had to be the watch, not me. Not my legs. Not my fitness. It was the mother effing Garmin.

So here's what I did:

I screamed. (OK, maybe not.)

I took an extra moment at a stop light to collect myself and make a resolution: run hard and do my best.

I connected with the greenway, which has quarter-mile markers. I made a mental not of where I was according to the Garmin and tracked it for the next mile. It was off by 0.07.

I was right! Time to celebrate! It helped that I was finished with the marathon pace miles.

I ran until the watch said I hit the full distance. I knew the watch was off but I wanted to be certain that my workout was done. Lo and behold, after I mapped it on two sites, I had been done a half-mile earlier.

I uploaded my data via bluetooth immediately after getting in the car so I could know I was right again.

When I got home, I looked for software updates and plugged in the watch via USB cable to my computer. I find if I've gone too long doing so that it can cause errors. Again, it's the watch and not me.

I basked in the knowledge that I ran the 7.4 miles at an 8:39 pace, which should sub out nicely for a workout I planned on doing later in the week: 2-mile WU, 4 x 1.5 miles at half marathon pace with 2 minutes rest, and 1-mile CD.

Other things to do:

Write furious public messages to Garmin on your social media accounts.

Know mile landmarks on your regular routes to compare to the GPS mileage if you think things are off.

Run on effort, not readout. It might help you avoid running too fast/like a jerk as I did.

Roll with it. Once upon a time, people ran without Garmins. The horror!

Soggy McSoggerson

This is where dedication and necessity meet stupidity.

I really needed to do something this morning - something active. After 24 hours of whining (and it was not me), I needed a space that was quiet, serene and just for me. My plan was either to rest or cross train, so I opted for the latter and decided to ride my bike. It was still in my trunk from a lunch ride on Monday, and I could easily park at work and go for 45 minutes before starting the day.

Now, I knew the forecast called for severe weather. It's all the meteorologists have talked about this week. However, it was predicted for the afternoon and when I checked Weather.com, the morning was just supposed to be cloudy.

Yeah. Cloudy. I will never trust you again Weather.com!

It was drizzling as I put the front wheel on my bike in the parking lot. It drizzled a bit harder when I started toward the greenway. By the time I hit the first hill, it was raining. By the time I hit the first foot bridge with warnings "Slippery When Wet," I was legitimately concerned about sliding and controlling my bike.

But still I rode. I needed it.

I was granted a bit of reprieve as I entered a heavily wooded part of the path but upon exit, I could hear it. The rain. Falling harder.

It was downright pouring by the time I hit my turnaround, and I was cycling with my head down to keep the rain from pelting my eyes. I am sure that would be considered super safe.

I kept hoping it would let up as I rode back but it did me no good. My jacket was soaked and sticking to me, my feet squishing as I pressed down on the pedal.

The remainder of the ride was spent equally trying to hammer to hurry the heck up and get back to the office and trying to ride conservatively - especially on the foot bridges that are fake wood - to keep myself safe. It was neither fun nor the quiet space that I had hoped for.

I arrived at work a soggy, wet mess. Like a sad little puppy left outside. My friend who (wo)mans the reception desk couldn't help but laugh at me. In the most caring way possible, of course.

And neither could I. It was all so ridiculous.

We laughed so hard as I explained my morning that we almost cried. It was then, I realized, my ride didn't give me what I needed but the experience and the friendship did.

Now if I can just find somewhere to hang my wet clothes ...

Curing obesity? Thoughts on long-term weight loss

remission (reh-MIH-shun). A decrease in or disappearance of signs and symptoms of a disease. In partial remission, some, but not all, signs and symptoms have disappeared. In complete remission, all signs and symptoms of disease have disappeared, although it still may be in the body.

◊ ◊ ◊

I've been thinking about this idea of remission lately - what it means to be rid of a disease, what it means to be cured. I've been thinking about when the condition not only ceases to exist but stops defining you.

It was by great luck and hospitality that I happened to find myself out with four lovely ladies on Saturday night in Napa. We were seated at the bar of Oxbow Cheese & Wine Merchant in Oxbow Public Market, enjoying the most amazing burrata as we laughed, sipped wine and chatted. The topic of the race - which all of us had run - and how we decided to run it came up, leading into a conversation about my blog.

"What do you write about?" Anne asked.

Fitness, running, life, weight loss, I told her. Well, how I keep the weight off, I clarified.

And so began the story - the telling of my story. It's one I'm used to sharing, so much so that I've almost become detached from it.

It's also one I feel almost silly telling for a number of reasons. A) It took me a long time to lose weight. Like 5 years, and it wasn't a straight 5 years. B) I don't have magic tricks to lose weight. And, C) it's been a long time since I've been that girl. I don't remember much about what it was like, physically, to carry that weight. I don't remember how I spent my time when I wasn't logging six hours of workouts a week.

The girl in my before pictures is not me and she hasn't been in 5 years. Five years - the same amount of time it takes for a person to stop being in remission and be cured of a disease.

While this definition/classification in most circumstances applies to cancer, obesity is a disease,* according to the American Heart Association, American College of Cardiology and The Obesity Society. As such, it should be treated, the agencies say, with doctors becoming proactive about weight loss, prescribing medically supervised weight loss programs and possibly suggesting surgery.

With the definition of obesity as a disease, comes the possibility of it being cured. The cure - permanent, maintainable weight loss. But when does that happen? The American Heart Association article suggests people participate in a weight loss maintenance program for a year. A year, though - the weight can easily come back. Would a "cure" designation be more appropriate at 5 years ... 10 years ... never?

I wonder, should such a thing exist, does there come a point, too, where you stop being the fat girl or stop being the weight loss success. Do you stop telling the story?

*Editor's note: I am, in no way, implying that being obese is like having cancer. The correlation was only drawn because of the timeline. Please do not take offense.

Entertain Me {A Three Things Thursday post}

1. My lunch break consisted of a trip to the hospital (cafeteria salad) and the library to pick up an item that I put on hold.

"Spirit of the Marathon II" on DVD!

I am sure a lot of people have seen it but the viewings didn't match up with my schedule. I was thisclose to buying it until I checked the library catalog on a whim. And BAM! They had it and it was in stock. Call me superstitious but I think it's good luck that I picked up a day before heading out for a race. I can't wait to watch it tonight after my classes at the YMCA.

2. While I was at the library, I also grabbed a couple of fiction books. A book, with pages - novel, I know. Ha! Novel. I'm so punny.

Anyway ... I'm sorry for that.

While electronics are allowed on flights, I always find myself bored during the take-off and landing. And there's only so many times I can read Sky Mall. So, I grabbed "Then Came You" by Jennifer Weiner. I haven't read in her awhile but I fell in love with her after reading "Good In Bed." Here's hoping I made a good pick! I also downloaded "The Signature of All Things" for my phone after the recommendation on the Another Mother Runner Podcast.

3.  So, I'm obsessed with "Orange Is The New Black." Mark and I binge watched the second season, and I am now re-watching the first season. Because, yeah, it's awesome and I need an outlet at night.

I even changed my running outfit to go with the "We Wear Orange on Wednesdays" thing. Fun or obsessed, you be the judge. (Use hashtag #runootd on Instagram and Twitter for a chance to be featured in a Runner's World weekly update.)

By the way, Mark and I will take binge-worth show suggestions that are available on Netflix and/or Prime.

What's keeping you entertained?