I'm supposed to be baking.

Or wrapping. Or at the very least, sleeping.

Because in addition to the general holiday kitchen mayhem scheduled for tomorrow, I'm running seven miles.  In an entirely unexpected turn of events, it will not be happening because I'm being chased by something with four legs and a lot of teeth.  Turns out, bad as I am, I actually like it.

We rolled into Austin from San Antonio, secure in our love of chips and a good salsa but realizing that we needed to set a better example for the girls.  Two things, however, would not happen.  I would not, under any circumstances, eat kale.  Nor would I run.

(cough)

Kale's not that bad.

I resolved to run a 5K before I turned 40, and that 5K would be the Color Run.  I started with C25K, and it was probably just as painful to watch as it was to execute.  But I managed.  I eked out a few more races, and then my sister-in-law called with a challenge of the Barney Stinson variety.  A half marathon in Florida, possibly wearing a tutu.  So now I and my college roommate, who I secretly suspect loves the fact that I am no longer effortlessly thin but is far too gracious to ever let that thought so much as skitter across her face, run every weekend.  I'm supposed to run during the week as well, but I loathe the treadmill and our neighborhood is carved into the side of a hill.  Next week.  I promise.

The long runs are painful, and often the only thing that gets me through is a litany of "van Staverens run".  So I run for my father, who was denied the chance first in high school and then again after an injury, and of course after his heart attack.  I run for my mom, whose ankles and knees survived pointe, but would never run.  I run for my grandmother who never exercised because it wasn't ladylike.  I run for my girls, and two weeks ago, in the biting cold, they ran for me. 

My time was horrible as I was shepherding them through crowds, trying to keep them to the right of the cones, re-pinning bibs, removing jackets, getting gloves back on, and it was worth every second.  Those red cheeks and noses were superceded by huge smiles of accomplishment.  It was 32 misty degrees with a wind chill in the low 20s  - and we ran.

Greetings from ATX

A lot can happen in the few months (cough, over a year) that one steps away from blogging. Like accepting a job with a team of people always held in high esteem, selling a house, moving, living in an apartment for a year and then finally buying another house. We're going to skip over the whole apartment bit because it was just that awful. I look around, and frankly, wait for the cameras to come out and tell me the show's over. Rob and I have always dreamed of living on the greenbelt and spend our Saturdays listening to the shrieks of happy kids as they charge through the underbrush with foam swords. Of course, there's cactus. And snakes. And coyotes. They're learning, and Santa will be dropping off some walkie talkies to give momma a little more peace of mind. I'll be the first to know when Wile E. is on the move. So much happened in the eight years we spent in San Antonio, and yet in many ways, so much in Austin is exactly as we left it in 2004. It's been surreal, and beyond my capacity to communicate. So much easier to explore and pick apart the mundanity of everyday life. Which, if I can grab a quiet moment here and there, I'll try to do. We're firmly ensconced in elementary, staring middle school in the face, and all too aware that Ashton has less time before college than she has behind her with us. It's a sobering thought, and one that takes my breath away if I dwell. Her chubby little arms and round face are gone, replaced by slender, pensive gorgeousness that I can hardly believe. We can see the "teen" in her face now, and hear it in her voice. There is door slamming, and the requisite litany of angst (who cares, you don't understand, I hate it here) and in the next breath "will you snuggle and tuck me in". She is a master of argument and can turn any discussion on a dime, choosing at every turn to pounce on the minutiae. My mother, predictably, takes no small amount of glee in watching this. Sage is still "little" and of course secure in her role as the baby. Except don't say baby, or cute, or sweet, or cuddly. Or buy anything pink, refer to princesses or ask if she'll wear a dress. She has taken to heart her size (small) and age in class (close to youngest) and decided to prove the world wrong in every way. Marissa Mayer should start looking over her shoulder. So. House new. Children older. Time shorter.

Confessions from the Homefront

1. Cling wrap is an art form - and I suspect Impressionism might be easier to master.
2. If you drop a 32-ounce jar of minced garlic on the floor, some if it will somehow end up on the ceiling.  And some in your nose.
3. Those disposable Gladware containers reproduce in dark cupboards - and they feed the lids to their Gladware young.
4. The outlets in all three bathrooms are not functional, and we're too proud to have our electrician come out and charge us $60 to reset the breakers.  For a third time.  Because we can never remember how to do it.
5. If eating two Fiber One bars for breakfast upsets your stomach, I don’t recommend following it with a lunch of undercooked red beans and rice.
6. Make sure the burners are completely cool before  using the stove-top as a staging area for baking ingredients.  Five pounds of sugar formerly stored in a Ziploc is not a fun cleanup.
7. There aren't enough old dance costumes in the house to satisfy a five year old with a DWTS obsession.  We need more sequins, stat.

The Results

Sage was, sadly, smoked in the 400 meter run.  She was urged by all to run the inside lane, and apparently listened well to her parents and coaches.

She waited until everyone else was off the starting line, jogged from her outside lane to the inside and then took off.  Parenting and coaching lesson #29 - five year olds take life literally.  Fortunately, I was able to distract her from the loss with five Girl Scout cookies, a hotdog, some Doritos, a Gatorade, nachos and some sort of sour candy that turned her tongue all stripey,

And we wonder why teen girls feed their emotions.

Both girls' teams placed in the 400 meter relay, so ours was a happy ride home. 

Softball is supposed to start this week, and a huge thank you to the mom who warned me that the kids share a batting helmet.  Just... ick.  Little 98.6 degree heads wedged into a plastic and foam shell on a 98.6 degree day can only result in serious funkiness.  We'll be picking up our own this week.

In completely unrelated news, the cat that we found in 2009 and who was supposed to be jettisoned into a new and wonderful life in someone else's home is finally getting spayed this Saturday.  She's in heat yet again and somehow managed to escape for a few hours this morning, so the timing could not be better.

That said, she was panting, hissing and beyond terrified when we found her, so I think it's a safe bet that her virtue is still intact. 

I'm going to end this before it devolves into a stream of wildly inappropriate consciousness about her beyond terrible disposition, her current physical state and the poor male cat that wanders our street.

Happy News

I must have been in a sunburn induced coma - we realised this week that Ashton did in fact place in the 400 relay and thus lives to run another day.

The umbrella, hat and sunscreen are already in the car.

Sports

Such an emotion-laden word, especially for those of us who tried, and failed, on the green fields of glory.  It should have been a huge hint to take up knitting when I was unable to muster a single overhand pull-up for the Presidential Fitness Challenge.  Ever.  Thank you, Messrs. Reagan and Schwarzenegger, for that annual reminder that, despite good nutrition at home, a physique that a string bean might envy and energy levels that often left my mother gasping for air and words, I was in fact, not physically fit.

I tried gymnastics, baseball, and soccer.  Some days were better than others, but I generally lacked the coordination to get all four limbs moving in concert towards an achievable goal.  Likewise, I dreaded the running, basketball and tennis sections of PE for all of the same reasons. 

Mom, in possible desperation, enrolled me in dance – and at first it appeared that my arms and legs were once again controlling me, not the other way around.  And then we hit upon drill team.  I might not be able to walk from one side of a room to another without incident, but I was apparently fine with complicated movement so long as someone else planned it, set it to a catchy tune and handed me some pom poms.  Shiny...

Fast forward twenty years.

Given that I have a full set of matching emotional baggage concerning sports, my heart broke into a million pieces when Sage placed in her track and field events whilst Ashton did not.

But Ashton, once again, proved that she walks her own, better, path.  She was the proud big sister, smiling even bigger than her slightly confused and admittedly overwhelmed sibling.  She was happy, confident and simply thrilled to have had a great day outside with her friends.  Pleased to have competed, pleased to be a part of a team, and that’s an achievement that she can keep and nurture and take with her for a lifetime.  That kind of joy is something to cherish, and something that will serve her well as she grows – in good times, and in the inevitable not so good times. 

I love my little bug, and every single day she does something that amazes me, makes my heart swell with even more pride and reminds me that she is her own person, and that she is a better person.

Spring... Texas Style

March is, in a word, glorious in the Austin / San Antonio area.  Warm (not hot) breezy days, nights with just enough bite in the air, wildflowers, and all the blue skies anyone could possibly ask for.  I'm convinced God gave us this small gift to trick us into staying for all the other months that are not March.

All that and more was in full display today. We saw the first bluebonnets along Highway 90 as we drove early this morning to a track meet for the girls, everyone bundled in two layers with our winter coats in hand.

And then the wind died down.

And the coats came off.

And I realized, belatedly, that I had committed a novice Texas weather foul - no hats, no sunscreen.

So, on March 3rd, after a high of only 70 degrees, both children are covered in aloe, Rob's scalp is bright enough to land airplanes, and I am wondering if it is an entirely bad idea to spray lidocaine directly into my ears because it's burned in there as well.