The F Word.

It's Finals Week, which means my hair is dirty. So is my house. We have no findable clean laundry (it's buried in piles) and we eat no meals planned ahead by more than 8 minutes or so. But every 12 weeks we go through this ritual, and still somehow we pull through, stay fed and stay married.

This quarter wasn't nearly as taxing as the last, although I always find myself more intense about stuff than I plan to be. Sometimes just letting go can be a challenge. But as I like to say, and by which I would like to live better: "Done is better than perfect."

Two exams are done. Two left to go. By this time tomorrow, I hope to be a free woman.

Aside from the bonds of laundry, that is...

Tiny Buttheads in the Snow

Whilst my offspring frolic in the frozen precipitation, I stay snuggly warm surfing the interwebs.

This is how we do snow 'round here!

Hi Grama Karen!

:)

Sorry Tiny Man.

Tiny Man to Violet: "Bica, do you like me?"
Violet to Tiny Man: "No. I like Mommy."

This may sound familiar to some of you, as an eerily similar exchange occured earlier this year between Violet and her father. Who was, let's just say, less than impressed.

I swear to God I don't teach her these things. Or even encourage them! Don't worry, I'm painfully aware that the love won't last long and that I'll suffer for it mightily in her teenage years.

But for now, I am enjoying my tiny fan club. Even if the rest of the house suffers a little for it. (Sorry guys.)

Mommy and Violet, Christmas 2011

On Daddies.

Recently, a few women I care about have lost their fathers. It is always a tragedy when someone loses a person they love, but for me, losing daddy hits very close to my heart. While working to come up with things to say, I ended up with the below. It is an open letter to all the little girls who, for one reason or another, have lost their daddies.

Perhaps the 'daddy' described here sounds more like your mom. Your big sister or brother. Your best friend, or your aunt to whom you were very close...

To all who've lost someone dear, this is for you.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dear Friend,

Daddies are special men who teach us, their daughters, the most important things about life and love. Through their examples they teach us patience, through their assurance teach us courage, and by their affection set our expectations for a partner. They are the warm, steady influences in our uncertain lives, and we rely on them for support, encouragement and acceptance.

And then one day we grow up. We become women, and suddenly realize our daddies are just men; that they have faults and make mistakes. But we decide we don't mind. We forgive them their weaknesses and failures because they are perfect in our childhood hearts. We accept them because of what they mean to us.

And then one day, they are gone. And the world no longer makes any sense. Our most reliable fail-safe person has disappeared, and we feel abandoned. We are surrounded by our partners, peers and children who love us and whom we love, but who can never see us or accept us in that perfect way of a parent. In that precious way of only daddy.

The following kind words were given to me shortly after my father died. They were shiny pieces of hope in a time of deep grief. What they meant to me, I hope they mean to you too, as we are sisters of a kind:

"You are your father's daughter. You can do anything, even this."

Love,
Nicole

I don't kneed you anyhow.

So my beloved routine was destroyed a few weeks ago during an unfortunate training incident when I strained a tendon in my right knee. I thought it would be a quick recovery, but it's proven much longer and much more annoying than anticipated. I've tried not to get discouraged or to dwell on the fact that the progress I'd made in fitness to that point was starting to feel substantial. And that I was feeling really good and more like...myself. And now I feel flabby and tired again, and my knee hurts too, to boot.

Boo.

So I'm going to try again, but I'm going to do it a little differently this time. I'm gunna get back on that nose-flaring horse we know as Jillian, but I'm going to spend some hours in other things too, just to make sure I'm not setting myself up to get hurt too quickly again. (She's a ball-buster, kids, but her technique is imperfect, in my sub-professional opinion.) I'd do the gym thing, but family-time and being home is paramount this quarter. So I'll have to stumble along until a new routine develops.

Tiny Man is four and a half now, and y'all might recall that the last time I was really in shape was about the fourth month of my pregnancy with him. (At which point I stopped running and the rest is history.) 5 years is a long time to de-condition, especially when you've had not one but *two* pregnancies in its first two years. (That's right, friends. Tiny Man was 10 months old and barely weaned when Stinky's ovum was fertilized.) That kind of work is really hard on an old bod. I'm lucky I can still walk upright.

Don't get me wrong. It was totally worth it. I love my kids, love how close they are in age and I think back on those years of pregnancy and nursing with much fondness and warmth. Being Mommy is awesome, and I'd do it again the same way if choosing again. But, the work it will take to get even close to the place where I started from is hefty, and setbacks like tweaked knees are harder on my confidence than they ever would have been before I first got pregnant. I don't need to be that small again. My body is different having brought life into the world, and I am okay with that. But I would like to have more energy, and to feel more comfortable in my skin. I want to feel like I remember feeling then -- fit, spry and like trampolines weren't the enemy.

So. My new mantra. I will not be discouraged! I will take care of my body! I will love it even when I still have a pooch six months from now! And the next time I tweak my knee, well, I'll find some other way to keep my routine on-track. Even if it involves a shake weight.

Me, pre-babies. Sigh.

Babies on Display

So yesterday the Buttheads came to visit me at school! Josh took the day off so he could escort them in to participate in a learning lab for my pediatrics course. It was really fun; we had two rooms filled with toys and balls and 32 grown-ups anxious about meeting strange little kids. Happily, the Buttheads were really great. At least, as as far as I know, they didn't scare any of my classmates into sterilization.

After they left, some older children came, and they were fun too. But working with them taught me something -- as much as I love children, of all ages, my heart really belongs to the little ones. So if I were to decide to be a pediatric therapist, it would most-likely be in the context of children 0-3.

Babies? Are where it's AT.

Baby Tiny Man and Laundry