The MS 150

It’s a little late to start training for a 150 mile bike ride that takes place over two days in early May, but I am giving it some serious thought for next year. I’ve wanted to form a goal, shoot for it and succeed. You know, just for something to do. A year or two ago I thought very seriously about fund raising and training for a Team in Training 100 mile bike ride in honor of a friend’s son, but the fund raising and training parts of the commitment were too much for me to take on at that point in my life, and my kids lives. It’s pretty hard to get that much time on a bike in preparation for a ride that challenging and long (I was planning on the hilly, yet serenely pretty, one in Tahoe) and still be a full time mommy - plus the minimum fund raising level was at least a few thousand dollars. That’s a hell of a lot of bake sales.

I don’t see my mommying time lessening any for at least another ten years or so, but the idea is gestating. What if I ride as much as possible, and fill in the rest at the gym with weight training? Of course, I would have to actually visit the gym and resist boredom induced early departure.

I would also have to replace the chain on my bike at some point. That baby’s only rated for about 2,000 miles and I’ve got more than twice that on it right now. I can pretty much only ride in about three gears on the back, so that would be kind of a bummer on a route that long. Plus, I would imagine that eventually the existing chain will just give up and snap or otherwise fall apart… not unlike the way I do from time to time. (insert facile smiley here - my blog editor is apparently not a smiley fan. This is good because a well told implication need not be punctuated by a small portrait of emotion.)

I would also need to pick up some distance on the routine rides. 150 miles is a hell of a lot more than 32 when both distances are stretched out over a couple of consecutive days.

Hmmm… It’s something to think about. It sure would do my large and portly bottom some good.

Soon I will start taking pictures of the stapler

Today, someone who works with my sister in California visited our esteemed University and gave a talk. I was really nervous I was going to screw up all the planning and make myself look like a moron. Compared to my super efficient sister, this really wouldn’t be difficult to do. So, after attending to my responsibilities and to congratulate myself for pulling this thing off without even a relative glitch, I came back to my office and chilled out with a little bit of Photobooth. I can’t play the cowcatcher game* at work anymore, so Photobooth is pretty much the only thing left.

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*The cowcatcher game is a really simple (looking) video game for the Mac in which a flying saucer roams a countryside picking up cows. It’s pretty goddamned addictive, and a great way to completely throw time to waste.

Maybe I’m not cut out for this

It’s nights like this that I wish the Easter Bunny really did exist. Jesus God, I’m not in the mood to stuff little plastic eggs with little jelly beans. Or artfully arrange paper grass in cheap woven baskets. One day I will probably yearn for these moments, and I’m sure it is not far off.

Does this make me a shitty mother?

Or just a frustrated, overwhelmed one?

Given that I am playing all the roles of all the mythical childhood creatures - Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy (though I do get a little help with this one, but prefer not to as the teeth end up in a black hole if I’m not involved), I think expressing a little fed-up-ness with the process is probably OK once in a while.

I’ll be more positive the next time I post, I promise.

Today, really, wasn’t so bad. It was just a day filled with screeching little girls, some crying, some whining, and the ever present demand to rise to the occasion of being The Entertainer. This is why, probably, I never seriously considered the idea of becoming a primary school teacher.

We made chocolate birds nests.

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We colored eggs.

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We rode bikes a little.

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We (and by we, I mean Winston) threw huge, horrible fits when told that a dyed egg cannot be made white again. After she was put to bed prematurely, she whimpered for exactly 15 seconds more before falling fast asleep.

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We (and by we, I mean Monkey) played the role of the diplomat. Monkey won a citizenship award at school just before spring break for being consistently helpful and sweet natured. I’m so proud of her, but I am really not sure where she picked up those skills.

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We (and by we, I mean Bear) stayed out of the way or let small children (Monkey, Winston, a visiting friend and her slightly younger brother) drag him around by his feet. He’s realized that locking his bedroom door affords him a little privacy, and he’s also learned the value of sanctuary.

We (and by we, I mean me) ate too many birds nests and is afraid to crack open the jelly beans to fill the stupid little plastic eggs. I’m considering purging. A good stomach flu would do me a world of good right now.

Chemical High

I don’t normally drink a lot of coffee. I guess because I don’t really like it, and chemical highs are more flash than substance. Still, when I do drink coffee, the world takes on a rosy glow and there is warmth and love all around. This is kind of a cool way to be, even if it only lasts a little while.

I’ve been out on my bike the last couple of nights, and even though it was hellishly windy in places (wind is only a problem when it’s not at your back), rejuvenation and excitement at the prospect of the cycling season beginning have been in the air. Winter left me feeling pretty sluggish and kind of nasty, and now I am in the process of shedding my “winter coat” from this winter just ending, and the winters from the last 20 odd years.

I got a new IMac at work. You know the one with the big ass flat screen monitor, and the whole computer is contained within the monitor? It’s pretty great and it has these great features, such as Photo Booth. So, after getting all jacked up on coffee this morning, I took a few pictures of myself.

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Now, if I’m wise, I might spend a little time getting some work done.

Winston at Dance

with the attendant spaghetti sauce ketchup stain. (I showed Winston the picture, and she corrected me on the origin of the stain.)

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