The First Day of the Rest of the Blog

In an effort to dust away the inter-cobwebs  I’m going to make an attempt this school year to used this blog as a place to keep up with our homeschooling adventures and general family events.

So, for at least the time being, ignore the schedule, don’t expect regularity, and don’t be alarmed if the posts seem as if they would only be of interest to those who share the same familial nose scrunch.  It’s okay, that’s what I’m mainly going for, but that won’t stop me from facebook bombing them, so enjoy, even if you couldn’t find the Middle of Nowhere without GPS.

Today was our first day of school.  I always thought it would be great if my kids could have the experience of walking to school.  I’m sure some expert somewhere once said that beginning the day with fresh air and exercise makes kids approximately a trillion times smarter, impossibly obedient, and general angels in the classroom.  That’s probably what’s been lacking in our schooling up until now, so this year we’re changing it up.  First thing every morning:  a one-mile run

We’ll keep this up at least until the Grand Rapids Children’s Marathon,

or until the cold Michigan air is credited for the loss of earlobes or pinky toes.

The next best change for the 2013-2014 academic year is the presence of a REAL LIVE SCHOOL ROOM.  Okay, fine, it’s not alive (because I teach my children science, I feel like I need to point out that I understand the concept of living beings.) 

But it’s a room.  And it’s for school.  And it’s real.  Real cool, that is.  Awesome.  Wonderful.  Stupendous.  Fantastic.

Can’t you tell by their happy faces?

Apparently the problem was that, and I quote, “I only have three markers.  That’s it, the first day of school is ruined.”

Happily the marker debacle was cooperatively solved.  Solved well enough, in fact, to grant markers to even the littlest scribblers among us.

The same little scribblers which later earned a home ec. lesson in laundry after “rest time” and “potty training” had an unfortunate intersection.  That is all on that subject.

What will the rest of the school year bring?  Hopefully more posts, and less impromptu laundry, but for now I’ve got to go grade some math.  I’m going to use a marker.

 

Peaches

Why this picture? Well, it’s never a bad thing to remind oneself of one’s supposed “active lifestyle”.  (…like  being forced into a run during Christmas break. Stupid.)

But, That’s not why I’m posting this picture. Who needs to motivate the masses? Not I. No, not I.

What do I need? I need to discuss that sampler behind our heads. “Carolina Peaches”. Hmm. That’s odd. From where did this sampler come? Carolina, perhaps? I don’t know. I’ve never been. Has Mom? Does she have a secret life down south that’s best explored in cross-stitch? Also, aren’t peaches largely from Georgia? I feel like there’s some sort of secret message here. Our mom is hiding something from us. I just know it.

 

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Running Away with My Imagination

Like their aunt, mother, and cousins my boys are adept at choosing books based on their covers.  Hence, the entire Mr. Putter and Tabby section of our local library was cleared yesterday afternoon.

The cover of these books didn’t used to strike their fancy until our good friend, fellow other-blogger, and renowned Little Boy Whisper Mrs. Mueller brought them over for post-math reading every Tuesday.  The boys soon became Putter Devotees.

If you’re not familiar with series I’ll give you a quick overview.  Mr. Putter is an older gentleman with a fine cat named Tabby, a next door neighbor Mrs. Teaberry and her good dog, Zeke.  They do things and stuff happens.  And it’s all very funny.

As they loaded the extensive collection of books into my holey library bag one book was waved wildly in front of my face with the caveat that this particular title was “for you, Mom.”  Which book could it be?  Mr. Putter and Tabby Bake the Cake?   Pick the Pears?   Spin the Yarn?   Spill the Beans?  All likely candidates, but no.  The answer was:

That’s right.  Mr. Putter and Tabby Run the Race.

As you’ll note, it was not I that ran a race last weekend, it was the green-clad, medal-wearing Kid’s Marathoners you see happily enjoying the book.  But, I have to admit after reading it that I probably have more in common with Mr. Putter than my speedy offspring.

In fact, I’m thinking of using this book as my new training guide.

To begin his marathon training our pace setter takes four days to find his sneakers.  I’m all over that.  Four days sorting out our entryway closet?  Easy-peasy.

Then he attempts some toe-touching.  He can only reach his knees, but no sweat.  Literally.  And that’s probably fine.  Keep touching your knees ten times a day.

Mr. Putter’s unique take on running gear has some appeal as well.  And his message about not being intimidated by the show-offs who can touch their toes really speaks to me.

And lest you think this training method will never work, please take note:

Plus, it’s either that or follow the plan in this book:

That seems less fun.

Running Away from Home

My sister inspires me.  Two summers ago when we were both running, biking, and dragging our families out into the fresh air she labeled it all “our new active lifestyle.”  Those words stuck with me.  They ring like a blaring alarm clock in my ear as I slog myself out the door in the morning to go for a run.  They justify my desire to buy a used tag-a-long off Craig’s List so we can go for bike rides.  They give me a proverbial high-five as I arrange a schedule with my husband so he can bike on mornings when I don’t run.

Back then we felt great, our families were learning healthy lifestyles, and goodness – she looked hot!  Then struck pregnancies #4 and babies #7, #8 and #9.  (Cue the sound of infants crying and big brothers role playing amplifiied by 279 sleepless nights and a couple dozen extra pounds.)  We wouldn’t trade these super cool kiddos for a seven-minute mile, but we are ready to exchange a half-an-hour of the daily chaos for a little pounding on the pavement.  It’s bound to restore our sanity and physique.  Right?

We both got back out there around 6 weeks ago, and yet the going hasn’t been all that easy, especially for my sister, who is, mind you, only 3 months postpartum. Notice, I waited until the twins were a good 8 months old before attempting to raise my heart rate in ways other than lugging 35 lbs. 13 oz. of baby.  Six-week doctor’s okay?  Um, not okay.

To give us a little jump-start challenge I looked for a race we could run while we were together this summer.  I couldn’t find anything, nor were either of us really up for racing with other people.  So, we had settled on just running together nearish our parents’ house.  I started mapping out some possible routes and the first one I put in came up as exactly 3.1 miles.  Well, that got me thinking.  We simply needed to do our own 5K.  It needed to be a surprise.  And it needed to be awesome.

I’ve been reading Run Like a Mother and couldn’t help but be excited about the great sisterhood of running, so I started by giving her my copy of the book.

I let her know that we would be running the Monday morning after the big family reunion, but I didn’t let her know any of the other details.  I made us matching shirts.

Hey! I know! We should run 3.1 miles!

The shirts came with matching headbands, but we decided not to rock those.  We prefer to get our headaches from boyish antics rather than cotton/spandex blends.

I made our children matching shirts.

They say, "My Mom Ran Away from Home"

I made our husbands matching shirts.

When we invited our dear friend Rachel along on the run I made her a matching shirt.

The plan was to run on the Cowboy Trail starting at our parents’ turn-off and going into town where we would end at the hospital.  It seemed iconic, if not necessary.  The trail used to be railroad tracks, but now it’s just a great place for walking, jogging, biking, oh, and riding horses.

But absolutely, under no circumstances is it for cows.

After determining they didn’t actually mean us, we set off.

We’ll spare you the nitty-gritty details of the walk run.  No statistics to report here, except that we each came in first for our age division.  That’s right, please feel free to take a moment to clap for us in your own locale and time.

Our boys sped out to meet us and then helped us sprint to the finish line.

Our families cheered us on, gave us water and provided one last detail that was a surprise even to me.

Emergency transport to the hospital.  Which was handy, since my mapping skills failed me, and the ER was a good .25 of a mile further than the end of our race.  Nicely played, Mom, nicely played.

But don’t think you’ve had the last laugh, because next year you might be on the Surprise Race Circuit.