Who has two thumbs and ran a mile without stopping today?
If you know me (and you do) this is huge. I’d call it epic but when ‘epic’ appears in a local newscast headline, it’s over. But this is really big for me.
10 short months ago, I couldn’t run for 45 seconds. I remember the first day on that treadmill, thinking that I might actually have a heart attack at 34 years old. But I didn’t. And today I ran. Not fast and, in the grand scheme of things, not far. It was only a mile and it took me 14 minutes and 35 seconds but I’m fairly certain that I have never ever run a mile. Not even when we had to in junior high gym class. I’m pretty sure I came in dead ass last there too.
But, no matter. I did it. And now that I know that I can, I can try to run further or faster. I’m going to go with further. Even at a 4.3 (average speed), that felt like plenty fast thankyouverymuch. I have learned that if I don’t use up all my energy “sprinting” then I have the stamina to go a whole 14 minutes and 35 seconds.
Another first happened today:
She lost it at school. I guess it was hanging on by a thread and her teacher sent her to the nurse’s office. The nurse encouraged her to pluck it out on her own and she did. Ella claimed that it did not hurt and didn’t even really bleed.
Of course the best part of this story is her insistence on keeping the tooth. She wrote a letter to the tooth fairy and left it under her pillow instead of the tooth. (The tooth, I believe, is hidden in her jewelry box.) I wish I could figure out my scanner because the letter is priceless.
To: Toth Fare,
I wod like u to lev my toth ulone. I wod stil like a coyn.
I explained that the first one is probably okay but the tooth fairy is going to want something for her trouble the next time she has to come here. The “tooth fairy” just about got busted trying to sneak the letter out from under her pillow and replace it with a gold dollar. The gold dollars are often refered to as “pirate gold” in our house. I wonder if she will make the connection.
I wish I could explain my neglect to my blog lately. It would be easy to say that I’m in my cyclical funk because that is true. I’m also making an attempt to be in bed early-ish although I am rarely asleep before midnight because I’ve found my reading love again. I think now that I can lounge in my own bed without someone else in it, I enjoy reading again. I don’t even know that that’s the issue.
Here it is, coming up on 3 years since Stephen died (and 7 since Will died) and I am writing the same things. I have the same feelings of parental inadequacy and guilt. I have the same insecurities about being a single woman in her mid-thirities (with a weight problem, two small children, a basket of yarn crafts and (most recently) a cat…can I be more of a stereotype?) that I had a year ago. Two years ago.
I know that when I read blogs, I expect new content when I check in on them. The most successful blogs are ones that provide something new. And I think, on some level, that if I just keep saying the same things over and over…what’s the point?
And maybe it’s just me.
Because there is a part of me, smaller but still very much present, that still can’t believe he’s gone.
How many times do I get to say that before somebody, somewhere says “yeah, yeah…you’ve been crying about that for years.” And they probably already have. Not that I should care. And mostly I don’t. But I’m just a little bit sick of my own self whining about it.
I should just go back to writing about the everyday crap even though every day is pretty much like every other day around here. Some days just require a xanax. Or a midnight batch of cookie dough.
But three years later? I’m really just tired of fighting it.