I let Grace use my camera at her Thanksgiving program. My real camera with the nice lens that makes me cringe at the sight of grubby fingers wandering towards the magical moving toy.
Now, she fancies herself as a photographer. She wanted to use the real camera again. I compromised and showed her how to use the camera on my iPhone. I have almost 200 new pictures added to the collection from this weekend. So it seems a waste to let them go undocumented. (Because you can bet once this posts, I am hitting the delete button on the camera.)
For the metro-DC crowd, we live in the boonies. The Wilds of Maryland, where there are still lots of u-pick farms minutes away, cows a-plenty, and a decent segment of the population that wear flannel shirts by choice and trade. It is very Republican in these parts.
I love our neighborhood with it's neurotically manicured laws, big green open parks and neighbors that wave to every car that drives by. Our next door neighbors are like family to us. They have a set of keys to our house and will always help if you need it. It is a quiet, friendly, safe place to live.
This images keep haunting me.
I was putting Clare down for bed. I kept thinking, What is that noise? The neighbors must be having a party. Thank goodness Clare is a heavy sleeper.
Matt and Grace weren't home. It was the first time in... well, ever ... that they were gone at 7:30 at night. He took her to a town all meeting to voice his support for a bike trail near our house.
When I went downstairs, the noise was louder. I walked right past the front windows and into the kitchen to clear the dinner dishes. Through the water I caught snippets of words.
Come out with your hands up.
Holy shit. Wait, what???
I immediately called next door. Across the street, a neighbor was being arrested. I saw it. I stood like a statue, though shaking slightly at the thought of what might come, with all the lights turned off and the front window open. I saw him come out after an hour; I saw him remove the gun from his waistband; I saw him put it on the car; I saw him kneel down and put his hands on his head; I saw the police take him away.
It was horrible. For the family, the neighborhood and for us.
We don't know the family very well, their post college aged children don't mesh much with our preschool demographic. But Gracie loved the family dog, and the kindness the man who was just taken away always showed her.
Grace has been at her new school for two and a half months now, and its been..... fantastic.
We love the school. We love the curriculum, the teachers and the families. We knew it would be a great fit from the first week.
I was worried though. I was worried about the change and how it would effect her, which was silly because I was the one who cried on her last day of school at her old daycare, not Grace. I tried writing about a fantastic party the school held in honor of the end of summer West African Yam Festival, but Clare threw up all over me after eating about 1lb of rice, and I didn't feel much like talking about it.
So one of the things that we love about the school is that they spend A LOT of time outdoors. The kids eat lunch outdoors whenever possible, they do yard work (raking leaves, pine needles and gathering branches), they garden (planting, watering, harvesting and spreading hay), they being afternoon recess at 3pm and stay outdoors until pickup and they care for their chickens.
Yeah, you heard me, they have chickens. Some of the (even more liberal than us) parents seem to raised concerns that the chickens being kept in the coop over weekends was cruel, so beginning last weekend families were asked to sign up for a weekend day to care for the birds.
We, of course, were the first family to enroll.
The coop, will there be eggs?
Of course not.
Release of the birds. I only stayed in the pen for 30 seconds after that.
If your on chicken duty you have to feed them, right?
Luckily we'd been saving egg shells and strawberry tops for a week.
Clare under the impression that the little beasties wanted to play with her instead of peck her.
Thank goodness for the upgrade of two layers of chicken wire.
We all escaped the good deed unscathed, next up, the Thanksgiving Picnic.
You are four now. No more of this almost business.
This morning when you came downstairs, there was a demure batting of the eyelashes at the birthday paraphernalia hanging from the ceiling, and you whispered a sincere Thank You.
You will be a brilliant four.
In the last year you have grown so much. So full of life, beauty, kindness and empathy. So full of creativity, curiosity and chutzpah (at times). You reason and love more than you fight and cry. You hug with your whole body and snuggle with your whole heart.
We love everything you are and all that you will be. Happy 4th Birthday Gracie!
Sunday was Gracie's birthday party. It's been under discussion for the last 10 months. She was very specific in her wishes.
One, a princess cake:
These cakes are how you know I love my children. A weekend of test cake making and then a full Friday/Saturday combo of baking and decorating went into this beast.
Two, a pinata:
Carefully selected with the inspection given to dozens before this unicorn was chosen. On the way home from the store, she hugged it and whispered how it was beautiful, but she was going to whack it with a stick and it wasn't personal.
Three, the ability to dress up:
So do you see what Sugar and Spice in all their Princess Glory are holding in this picture? Yep, the head of the unicorn. There is a whole series of photos where they entertained themselves by pummeling the broken paper-mache carcass.
The irony of it though? Grace was REALLY upset when I through the bits into the dumpster.
The best part of the party for me? A concentrated mass of mom's from her new school telling me how sweet, well mannered and kind she is.
Race Type -1/2 Ironman Total Time - 7h 14m 21s Overall Rank - 250/390 Age Group - 35-39 Age Group Rank - 35/53
Race Report:
Headed to Deep Creek Saturday morning, with a quick stop in Westernport to see if I could make it up the Wall with the recently installed 11/28 cassette (I failed last month with a 25), made it fairly easily, so I had much more confidence going into Sunday. Packet pickup and racking were uneventful, and by the time I went and checked in at Wisp, it was time to head up to the Carb Dinner. The whole reception and dinner was great, good food, lots of friendly people, and Dave Scott was really down to earth and fun to talked too. I congratulated him on his upcoming victory over me. I didn't sleep very well, and was pretty much awake at 3:30, not cool when your race doesn't start until 8:45.
Swim: 38:41 | 1931 meters | 02m / 100meters
I pretty much focused my swim training on being comfortable for the distance, and not setting the world on fire. I wouldn't say it felt great getting in the water, but it was sure as hell better than standing out in the air.
Normal tumbling at the start, also, realized about five minutes in that I had forgotten to start my watch. Oops. Made it to the turtle turnaround much faster than I had expected, then coming back to the second turnaround at the Swan there was some chop that was a little distracting, but nothing serious.
What would you do differently?: I did the required distances in training, however I've never really done the training sets that make you a faster swimmer. I really should if I want to stop being a back of pack swimmer.
T1:06:49
So running out of the water I had the first of many silly conversations with myself. I was so numb from the water, I actually thought I might be warm enough to avoid most of the extra clothing I had for the bike. Fortuantely, the small part of my brain that contains intelligence said, "Hey, see that smoke coming out of your mouth? That means it is still cold dummy." Hence the long transition time, drying off as much as possible, putting on bike pants and jersey over my trisuit, and finally arm warmers and gloves. I did not regret using any of these items.
What would you do differently?: Maybe just bring a Snuggie to wear and avoid clothing volume?
Bike: 04:01:59 | 56 miles | 13.89 mile/hr
You would think that as hard as the bike course is, any nerves or excitement would be concerning all of the hills, not just one of them. But I'm a guy, and thus, inherently dumb, so all I could think about was the Wall. What if I don't make it? Will that ruin my day? Will I curse the poor volunteers for their grievous sin of helping me get up? Despite all of these thoughts, I managed to multitask and pedal the bike at the same time. Those first 18 miles are downright pleasant, except for that Wall voice in my head.
So, here we go. Passed into Westernport and headed up the small ramp a block or two before the start of the Wall. I shifted to my small front chainring, and of course, the chain wouldn't catch. Panic time. Fumbled blindly with my shifters, and thankfully, somehow, it caught. Then you turn the corner, and it's time for the four block adventure. If they don't already, I think they should have someone recording expressions as riders get their first look up the Wall. Audio might be nice too. I did the first three blocks with a couple gears to spare, then put it into the 28 for the final part. I could hear the noise, and part of me noticed the crowd, but for the most part I just talked/screamed at myself. Here's what the conversation was like over the last block:
Voice 1:"Okay dummy, spin real fast now and stay to the right."
Voice 2:"I don't think I can do this."
Voice 1:"Shut up. Look, that guy that fell to your left, he's blocking everyone else from getting in your way."
Voice 2:"Thanks Voice 1, I think we might do this!"
Voice 1:"Crap, that other guy just fell in your preferred line, veer left right here towards the top and go over that big pothole!"
Voice 2:"WHAT?!?"
And then I was at the top. The race is over, right? I pumped my fist to the crowd and everything, so it's time to go home.
No, not exactly. But I will say, it was an awesome feeling, and I'm really looking forward to seeing the video to see if it really was as crazy as it seemed at the time.
Now it was time to assess things. The clothing drop was just ahead, but honestly the sun hadn't come out and it was chilly enough that my lungs were burning pretty good. I decided to keep everything with me, and it ended up being a good decision. Then, the long slog up Big Savage. Nothing memorable, other than the repeated conversations everyone had on the way up asking whether you had gotten your brick.
I made my biggest mistake of the day at the top of the climb. At the aid station, I got a bottle of water and some salt pills. In juggling both I managed to lose the water bottle, which went spiraling back down the hill. Winning the "Worst Idea Ever" award, I decided I should just keep going and stick it out to the next aid station. It's only 14 miles, right? Never mind there are three really nasty climbs in between. Fortunately (not that I deserved it) I was saved by Ronna, who I talked to for all while on the gentle climb before McAndrew. Besides being really nice in general, she gave me one of her bottles. I suppose now I have to do something nice for someone someday. Although I didn't get to see Ronna finish, I did manage to sneak into her transition area to return the bottle afterwards (it was a nicer, fancy one).
McAndrew and Otto were not bad at all, just grinding out the climb, and then I saw my favorite sign of the day, already mentioned in another race report, "Don't Look Left!". On my training ride last month I didn't think Killer Miller was too bad. Not the case today. Several people were walking their bikes up, and my quads were starting to get that special tingle that meant I was on the verge of serious cramps. There were some good crowds on the ascent though, and that really helped keep me going. Made it to the aid station and actually managed to hang on to the bottle this time. Yay team.
Maynardier wasn't too much of a problem, and I felt I was pretty good to go, until mile 47 when I hit this tiny little hill, and decided to stand in the pedals for just a second or two to stretch things out. Oops. Both quads seized at once. It was bad. "Might not finish the race" kind of bad. Somehow the cramps eased up, and I didn't have to walk the rest of the bike and half marathon doing a double peg-leg stumblefest. I had been hoping to finish the bike leg under 4 hours, but especially given the scare towards the end, I was just glad to get through in one piece.
What would you do differently?: Not a thing.
T2: 02:21
That's more like it. Since I had already put my arm warmers and gloves in my jersey, I just had to take the jersey and bike pants off, change shoes, and out the door I went.
What would you do differently?: Wait a week before coming back to do the half marathon.
Run: 02:24:34 | 13.1 miles | 11m 02s min/mile
I saw coming in that two break seven hours I'd have to do better than 10 minute miles. I knew it was possible, I just didn't know if it was possible today. I felt great the first two miles, and then my legs started playing a game called "Guess Which Part Will Hurt Next?". Nothing consistent, just roving aches and pains throughout, with an occassional back spasm for good measure. At the aid stations I took on salt, alternated water and Heed, even had some pretzels at one point. I think I was averaging under 10 minute miles for the first half of the loop, but then I hit the fire road. I really did plan on running up it, I swear I did. But when there is someone walking up ahead of you, and you're not catching them while "running", you kinda need to reassess priorities. So, I walked up the last half, then started running again. One funny moment just before mile 6, a spectator shouted (encouragingly) that I was almost done, and her friend chastised her, since you never know if someone is on their first or second lap. I just smiled and said I'd see them in an hour or so. I finished my first loop in about 1:08, so I knew sub-seven hours wasn't happening. Oh well.
Second lap was pretty consistent with the first, although a little slower. This is primarily since I now walked up 3/4 of the fire road. I was feeling ok, and actually passed some people those last few miles. I tried to stay lighthearted, saying goodbye to everyone I'd seen the first time around, and letting that girl (now at mile 12) that it was ok to tell me I'm almost done now. Happily the last mile or so of the run is flat, which was a huge relief at that point since you never get completely comfortable with giant hills that want to destroy your soul. Crossed the finish line, feeling really spent, sore, but overall ok. Nice touch that they had the finish line tape up for me, makes us slow folks feel a little bit prouder.
What would you do differently?: It was what it was. As you'll read below, there is a likely reason I wasn't as fast as I could have been.
Post race
Warm down: Right after finishing BT'r SBRDave found me, having finished well before I did and hearing my name coming down the finish chute. We talked for a bit while I ate a sandwich (great post race food and ice cream by the way). I even got to take a shower after packing up to head home, so I didn't have to drive for three hours feeling like a dirty salt lick.
What limited your ability to perform faster: Yeah, this is the real fun part. I arrived home at around 8PM, and shortly thereafter my wife started exhibiting symptoms of a stomach bug. Same symptoms hit me at 1AM, and it was party one from there, so I assume it was something we caught Friday or Saturday that blew up Sunday night. Did it affect me? No idea, but either way I don't think it kept me from that podium spot.
Event comments: Simply the best supported, organized, and fun race I have ever done. My biggest regret is that I didn't get to fully take in the weekend and enjoy the area. I think I'll do the 70.0 again, but what I really think would be fun would be to run the Olympic on Saturday and then volunteer on Sunday. I've become a bit complacent in my race reporting over the last year or two, this is the first race report in a while that I was excited about writing.
I hate all of the 'Where were you?' September 11th posts.
'How did you feel? What were you doing?'
I suppose I was lucky that day, I was safely ensconsed in suburban Chicagoland. I knew nobody in New York or at the Pentagon. But today still riddles me with sorrow.... guilt.
'How did you feel? What were you doing?'
I rarely join in on the conversations. I listen, and smile sympathetically, but I don't contribute. I still feel so guilty about my response to those questions. I guess I should just go ahead and tell my story. Maybe my shoulders will lighten a little bit.
*******************
On September 11, 2001, I was working for a stockbroker.
I hated the job. It was a two man shop, me and him. He was hardly ever in the office, often out playing golf with clients. He was maybe two or three years older than me. I never asked him how old he was, I really didn't want to know. He talked constantly about how much money he was making, knowing that more than a few of his big ticket customers were there because I charmed them while he was out playing golf. I hated the job.
I mostly worked an 8 am - 4pm schedule, skipping lunch so I could leave early. The New York Stock Excahnge opened at 9:30 am which usually gave me an hour and a half to open the office and sort all the voice mail messages and faxes that had come through overnight.
Around 8:50 am a fax came through from headquarters. To my recollection, it said 'The Market will be delayed in opening. It has been reported that a small prop plane as struck a building in downtown NYC.'
And I laughed.
That is my guilt, my sorrow. I was glad for a delay to the start of my day. I laughed for a solid 5 minutes.
Until the next fax came through. And the one after that. And the one after that.
Details came through slowly, or so it felt. The handful of minutes between updates felt like hours. We didn't have a TV in the office and I don't know why it didn't dawn on me to turn on the radio. I just read the supply of faxes that started pouring in, each with an increasing about of information and horror. I started flinching every time I heard the machine kick on.
Per his normal schedule, my stockbroker flew into the parking lot a few minutes after 9:30.
'Have you heard what happened?' he asked, 'This will be bad for buisness. I need to think.' He shut himself in his office behind me. I sat in shock and read the flow of faxes.
I had laughed.
Around 10am he emerged with a pile of printouts. 'We have to do something. We have to tell people that their money is OK,' he announced. He handed me a stack of papers. It was a list of clients and phone numbers, A-M. 'People need to hear from us. We need to personally call everyone and reassure them their investments are safe.'
My stomach flip-flopped but I didn't say anything outside of saying that I wasn't comforatable with it. I should have screamed at him, told him what an asshole he was. People were dying and he was worried about money. I didn't say it though. I sat at my desk for 10 minutes and then picked up the phone.
A few numbers in, somebody answered. She answered with a shakey, tear filled voice. I followed my script. She screamed at me. Screamed the things that I should have screamed at my stockbroker. She knew people in those buildings. I deserved those words. The full impact of what was happending and what I had just done fully hit me. I wept uncontrolably.
That is the second fold of my sorrow, my guilt. I blindly followed instructions that I knew weren't right. That I knew were crass and careless.
After I told the stockbroker what happened, he sent me home for the day. And he changed his tactic. He narrowed this list to just his biggest clients and rang with concern about their families and connections on the East Coast.
****************
That is my story, my remembering. It isn't as horrible as it could be, as many are. But, it could be so much easier to tell, if only my actions that day were more thought out, more careful. I made someone's life worse that day, their heart ache more.
And you know what? 10 years later, I don't feel a shred better for having written this.
Robin has become my fairy blogmother. She raises her wand (or hits forward, whatever) and adds my name to the list. Yes, Shannon from Make Time For Love would be interested.
Do you recognize this face?
Not Grace's, because, you know, I try not to actually show her face on the blog. But the ears in front of here should be a giveaway of where we were.
The fine folks in Orlando, brought a little bit of Disney world to Baltimore yesterday.
I made them mistake of not doing by bloggey research on the Disney Summer Social, and billed it as a princess party to Grace. While it was in no way princesses-ey, it still was filled with enough Mickey Mouse and princess paraphernalia to satisfy her. Particularly when I declared that Grace was the princess at the party.
Hurray Princess Crown!
There was food and toys abound, along with an artist decorating the kids with their favorite Disney characters.
But what I thought was the best thing about this event?
It really wasn't about the kids. It was about the moms. I seemed to be one of the few people in the room that wasn't already connected to the rest of the crowd, but it was still nice. It was a safe, comfortable, environment to let you kid play while you talked to other moms. Disney, you got the Summer Social right.
Grace and I both went home happy. I can't wait until the girls are old enough for our first trip to Disney World!
I like my natural disasters to be straight forward. To give some sort of warning.
I grew up in a Chicagoland tornado alley, so honestly, those whipping columns of wind hardly even phase me. I'm like a human radar. I look at the sky patterns and color, sniff the wind and then head back inside. Meh, it's fine. Let's finish dinner.
Most of the time it's a false alarm. Either way, you've had plenty of warning if something is going down.
Hurricane's too. While I do not claim to be an expert on this weather phenom, you can see them coming. There have been days and days of incessant news stories and time to prep. And you'd better prep early because everyone now has the fear of Katrina in them. I never see the downside of buying extra milk and canned goods though. There is never any such thing as too much milk in our house. In fact, I think we will be stocking up for Irene this Friday.
Earthquakes though, those are tricky things. No warning. No odd goings-on in the sky or newscasters instilling panic in us. Just BAM: Shooka-shooka-shooka.
Yesterday's earthquake only lasted 36 seconds. It was 36 seconds of quiet panic though. In the metro DC area a person's mind tends to wander towards man-made causes of a shaking building, not Random Acts of God.
It was 36 seconds of panic and then a few minutes of: Where are my babies? What do I need to grab to leave? Do I have time to tweet this? Does Matt feel this too? Is this an earthquake? Yes, it is an earthquake. No, I don't know what magnitude it is, I am using my phone to tweet. Make sure you grab your stuff, who knows if we'll be let back in. What if the parking garage collapses? What if this building collapses; lowest bidder you know. No, I don't know the magnitude yet, I'm texting.
After an hour of sitting outside with Clare (relatively) in my arms, solidified with confirmation that we did indeed part of the East Coast earthquake and feeding a miraculously found sleeve of Ritz crackers that were in my purse to hungry children, we were sent home so building assessments could be preformed.
While there has been reports of damage to buildings, including the disheartening indefinite closure of the Washington Monument, our house remained unscathed.
Unless you find shifted books and photographs upsetting.
