Whenever I feel blue, I start breathing again.

This entry is really more about my birthday than feeling blue. . . but the sentiment expressed the essence of my epiphony this year. So I included it. I came to the conspicuous conclusion that often when things don't seem to go right for me, it is invariably due the fact that I am neglecting certain obvious and necessary things in my life; like breathing for instance! Too often i like to look outward for the cause of my grief, my discomfort, and my frustration, when it all to frequently stems from myself. So go figure. I'm a little slow, but this coming year I have decided that I will try to remember to "breathe" a bit more!

So for the fun stuff. My birthday. Happened a while ago, but I am not counting down or back the days to my birthday anymore. Just another day, for the most part, but a day to make excuses for special treats. This year's treat was a fun day at the BYU/SDSU football game in San Diego. But not before a mad dash to the San Diego Zoo, where we jumped aboard the sky tram in a scramble to see the polar bears and the snow that was delivered just for them to play in. We sprinted back to the tram and out to the car, grabbed a lightening fast lunch at Chipotle, and made it to the game in time for kick off. Despite threatening dark skys and sporadic showers, we had a ton of fun and frozen feet. Matthew honed in on the puddles that could be found scattered throughout the stadium, and within 5 minutes had succeeded in soaking himself and any unfortunate, although amused, passers-by! And while he provided some side entertainment for several spectators, Alaina was more intrigued by the fancy footwork and theatrics of the cheer squad. (I offer a silent plea for forgiveness, but she does have her agency). She loved the pom-poms, and everytime San Diego scored a touch down they would shoot off the cannons and fireworks. Since that fanfare was only afforded to the home team, she was a lone San Diego patriot among many devoted Cougars! After the game, which saw not a single droplet of rain, we headed to El Torrito with some good friends for dinner. So my day was an enjoyable one. Probably one of the better birthdays in a long while.

And, upon returning home that evening, I had some warm color in my face . The day had awarded me plenty of time to breathe, eliminating the bluish tint that had started to appear there.

Turkey Trot Times

Yeah, I probably looked like a turkey doing something similar to a trot! But the results are in and I got 8th in my age group. My time was one of my worst, but I finished! Amy did awesome as always. She is such a stud! And while I have been resting she has continued to pound the pavement. . .well the treadmill! But she is the one who should get the praise. Even when no one is looking she is still going strong. Never has been one of my strong points.

After countless miles of running we ran our first official race. The first of several in a series they run here in Yuma. Since that race I haven't run a single day, maybe once or twice, and the next race is tomorrow. I don't know if I will run or not. The gun goes of at 8:30am and I have to be at a Primary Quarterly Activity at 10 am. So it is either go stinky and sweaty, or don't run. I am torn. I guess I will let you know!

Mountains Out of Mole-Hills?

For the last several invidious weeks I have been a drifter in my own home. Never sleeping for more than a couple restless hours upon the same mattress. I start out in Alaina's room, till her tired eyes nod off to sleep. Then to my room, and my profusely pined-for plush pillow-top. My sojourn here only lasts another couple hours, until around 3:30 am Matthew promptly awakens, demanding "Chawbee milk", and my warm and snug spot in bed. I attempt to squeeze onto my king sized bed. . . with only inches left between him and an untimely tumble to the floor below. After a few moments of tenaciously grappling the side of the bed to keep from being punched, pummeled and poked off the edge, I stumble to the guest bedroom to listen to the sprinklers water the back lawn until I doze off, only to greet the sun moments later it seems.

Last night was the last night that I would be branded a vagabond. With a baby on the way, I could not imagine wandering like this for much longer. So I determined to put an end to it. While Alaina still demands at least a token attempt at sleeping with her, Matthew has no say in the matter. After about 40 minutes of angry screaming, he decided he would take my peace offering - a cold cup of strawberry succulence. And then after several weary requests to watch "Cars" (his all time, overly watched, and much beloved favorite movie), I get him to lay back down in bed with Alaina in HER bed, while we watch the artificial fish in his artificial aquarium swim round and round in circles. Almost 2 hours later, and after the type of rolling and flipping and flopping few in this wide world have ever witnessed, he relinquished his relentless hold on conciousness, and fell asleep.

I lay in bed soon thereafter, wondering if I had made a mountain out of a mole-hill. Was it really all that important to kick my cuddling son out of my plenty large bed? Was I going to miss these moments, and regret forcing them into oblivion?
Then I decided to celebrate this mole-hill morphed to mountain. This was a huge step for me, a victory won, a step closer to sanity. So I will glory in my 'mountain'. It is one to find satisfaction in. I think as mothers, what were once accomplishments worthy of Mountain Stature, become virtual mole-hills. What we once celebrated becomes less significant. And the small, seemingly mundane mole-hills become our Mt. Everests.
And while one successful night of not acquiescing to his demand to bunk down in my domain is by no means the end, it is the beginning, the first peak of many. It may be squashed and my once steadfast and immovable mountain may crumble before my eyes. . .I will still raise my arms above my head, and say "I did it!"
So here are to all the mole-hills we have come and will come to celebrate as mountains.

Stomach Churn to Heart Burn

Well, now that I am done throwing up I thought I would return to the keyboard (since there is no longer the looming possiblity that tiny chunks of vomit might find themselves lodged in the keys) and resume my love affair with my beloved blogging.

I lay in bed the other night, and welcomed the all too familiar burn that starts at the base of my throat. . .lingering, slightly pestering, threatening to ignite into a full throddle flame. This means my battle with nausea is coming to an end, a new front has begun. I will take this new attack, with arms wide open, my face to the sky, peals of laughter and relief dancing heaven-ward, with an adieu to the never-ending waves of morning sickness. It seems that while the war is not over, the most wicked of it is done, and I find divine deliverance, or at least a much more manageable malaise.

So here is to feeling better and stomach churn to heart burn!