Wine and Chocolate 5k...and Marathon Man

Last Saturday my friend and I ran a 5k.

I know what you're thinking. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself? You're clearly terrible at running."

Which is true. I suppose it's one of those things like childbirth. It's terrible but it gets good at the end. Well, it's not exactly like childbirth, lest any men think we've been exaggerating all this time. Also, races have fewer drugs than childbirth. Some - but not as much.

Sure, I feel like I'm about the receive the cold kiss of death during a run but my legs feel all glowy the rest of the day.

Every race, there's always this one guy.



He never wears a shirt and he dons teeny tiny shorts, like he's concerned about wind drag on his time. This guy is one of the people who practice for the 5k, warming up by running miles and miles and miles before the race. Considering the race is only 3.1 miles, I see this as rather absurd. What is this, a marathon? Stop sprinting in your toddler-sized shorts, sweat glistening on your hairless chest, face stony with determination.

It's a 5k.

No, no, it's a Wine and Chocolate 5k.

This isn't the Olympics, for Dean Karnazes' sake. It's a 3 miles run with children, and moms with strollers, and groups of sorority sisters with shirts that say "Run now, Wine later" on them. You're only irritating people.

When the first pace group is called, usually the 6-7 min/mile group, he's there, guzzling an energy chew and doing a couple quick high knees for good measure and visualizing his first place win.

Calm it down.

Someone asked what my pace was and I answered, "Whatever the slowest one is."

In fact, during the race, I was passed by a dad and his two daughters, one of which, a 6 year old-ish kid, was wearing jeans and flip flops. And still she passed.

It does nothing for my self-esteem, which has never recovered from the Atomic-Bomb-Frizzy-Mushroom haircut of '94.

Before I was even at the Mile 1 water station, people were looping back to finish. Marathon man was third or fourth, I think. It must have really chaffed his Daisy Dukes not to be in first. Should've done a couple more high knees.

So I didn't win the 5k. And it was flippin hot, seeing as it took place at 430 in Florida in late April. This date and time was clearly set by someone who has never been to Florida on an April afternoon. But I had a great evening with my best friend, where we got to laugh and talk without anyone yelling from the bathroom to come quickly. And there were wine glasses at the end and lovely people pouring chilling drinks into our glasses while we sipped and munched on chocolate covered popcorn.

We decided to make a 5k date, maybe twice a year. That means I have to wait a whole 6 months before I can be treated to the fanatic warm-up stylings of Marathon Man. 

Shoot.

Getting Your Child To Sleep: First Born vs Third Born

When I was a new parent, I was dumb.

Man, was I ever dumb.

Not that I'm rolling in the neurons now. But especially as a new parent. I owned every "What to Expect Book" there was:

'What to Expect When You're Expecting'

'What To Expect the First Year'

'What to Expect When You're A Neurotic Parent and You're Driving Everyone Crazy'

'What to Expect When Your Baby Has a Slight Case of Jaundice Which is Totally Treatable and Not Really a Big Deal but You're Hysterical and Slumped in the Hallway Sobbing by the Vending Machines'

I'm telling you, I had all of them. I remember my mom visiting me and newborn Jack and she told me that I read too much. Bear in mind, this is a well-read woman. She loves books. We all do. We buy them for each other and loan them and talk about them over dessert. And here she was, telling me to stop reading.

But I really couldn't help it. In fact, when I was first pregnant with Jack, all shiny and full of hope (no really, I was shiny. My face was all oily and stuff), I even wrote out a daily schedule with all the vitamins and minerals I would need for a healthy pregnancy.

I can't hardly type that without simultaneously wanting to laugh at my old self and slap her for being so insufferable.

My plans included lots and lots of leafy greens, a colorful array of vegetables, lean protein, and, of course, a prenatal vitamin with folic acid.

And then I ended up throwing up so hard and often that nothing would stay down and I would burst the blood vessels in my eyes.

Despite my best intentions, nacho cheese Doritos are the ONLY thing I could keep down. So that's how Jack was made - with love, good intentions, and lots of Doritos.

If you're wondering when the sleeping part comes in, I'm getting there. Sometimes I ramble but that's most likely due to the high amounts of artificially cheese-flavored processed snacks I consumed a decade ago.

In the years since I first became a parent, I've had to let go of the high expectations I had of my parenting skills. It's now more a matter of survival than it is excellence.

So this is the difference between getting my first-born to sleep as a toddler/preschooler and getting my last-born to sleep (This is Noah; I do realize that Tali is my last baby but she came to us a great sleeper, probably more the result of not having enough help during the night at the orphanage and kids just learned to sleep).

Where Does Baby Sleep?

First Child

He slept in my arms because he fussed when I put him down (in his perfectly SIDS-safe crib without blankets and bumpers). Jack wore a sleep sack for both easy access for nighttime diaper changes as well as warmth without the use of frowned-upon blankets. We had a baby monitor for awhile and I would lay awake, wide-eyed, straining to listen to it, on the rare times he slept in his crib. Just in case the monitor was lying about my baby sleeping soundly, I would jump out out of bed throughout the night and put my shaking hand to his chest to make sure he was breathing. Sometimes, if I was feeling all-the-way crazy, I would wake him up, just to assure myself that he was, in fact, alive. He only slept in my arms or swaddled tightly in a safe, secure cocoon of love.

Third Child

No monitor, same crib as the first and second born - now with teeth marks. He might have slept in sleepers but probably slept in diapers or his clothes from that day. The 4 year old may or may not have helped to dress him. He might have the sleeper snapped up properly, he also may not. He had blankets and toys and socks and possibly Cheerios in his crib.

I definitely did not have a monitor (and if I had had one, it would have been packed away or in the toy box. Or given it to some poor new parent who actually cares about their baby's sleeping habits.)
Noah slept in a swing, in the car seat, next to his 6-year-old brother on the couch, on the floor surrounded by toys because I completely forgot he was playing there and he passed out for a nap.

Covered in blankets, on a recliner. A recliner!

How Do You Get the Baby/Child to Sleep at Night?

First Child

Jack was surrounded by words - lullabies, books, songs, poems. Every cd carefully picked out from a recommendation in a Parenting magazine. Songs for naptime, for playtime, for cleaning up, for eating. Every bite of food is talked about - color, texture, taste. Words were enunciated to help with verbal development - Print Rich Environment, Developmentally Appropriate Play!

I pored over the books for sleep. Books on how to send baby to dreamland with comfort. No crying it out, no break in the mother-child bond. He was rocked, tummy to tummy, swaddled, fed (but not right before sleeping! Feed then begin nighttime routine so he learns how to fall asleep). When it was finally time for Jack to sleep in his crib (8 months old. 8. Freaking. Months), I followed a program, step by step. First sitting by his crib, talking softly. Then sitting quietly. Finally moving my chair towards the door (all this time a night light is on, the white noise maker filling the room with the soothing sounds of a babbling brook) and then lastly, leaving the room after Jack falls peacefully asleep, being assured that I was there as he slept.


Third Child

I'm using what few parenting books I have left to hold up the leg of the coffee table. If I have a question, I google it. But they're usually not parenting questions. More like "What is the maximum amount of wine I can drink in a day that is socially acceptable?"and "How often do I HAVE to wash yoga pants?"

For parenting advice, I ask my mom (which is silly because she can't remember our collective childhood. Her brain has blocked it out for self-preservation) or just make it up.

I rarely talked to Noah about his food except to say "NO! Don't eat that! That cheerio was in your diaper. Gross. You know what? Fine. Less I have to clean up later."

By that time I didn't have a subscription to any parenting magazines and if I did, I would have given them to the kids to cut out and glue on a piece of paper because it would've bought me 10 minutes of business and quiet until someone stabs someone else with the scissors.

Noah slept in a crib from the first night. I got up to feed him, often falling asleep in the rocking chair. Often he ate right before sleeping, pulling off from nursing in a milk-induced coma as I snuck out of the room. Or I just put him to bed crying, told him good night, and shut the door. He might have cried for awhile or he might have fallen right to sleep. I was too far away to know either way.

Nap Time

First Born

Jack napped at proper intervals and always with a book (often about naps - appropriately themed books). Then I would whisper to Jack as we lay side by side. We would talk about the things we did that morning and our plans for later that day. Thoughtful questions were asked and answered. A kiss on the forehead before leaving. Daily events were mapped out around sleep times, because it's so crucial to brain development.

Play date at 1?

Nope, naptime. Can't do it.

Dinner at 7?

Goodness gracious, nighttime routine starts at 7:15. We can't possibly do that. Our little one needs his sleep.

Third Born

He just sleeps whenever. Sometimes it's at actual naptime, right after lunch. But if he sleeps in the car or in the stroller, we count that as nap too.

Play date at 1?

Yes, please. I need some adult talk time. If Noah is really tired, he'll just sleep in the car on the way home.

Dinner at 7?

I don't have to cook? Yippee! Load up the kids and let's blow this pop stand. If Noah gets cranky because we're out late, we'll just strap him in the stroller. He'll eventually tire himself out with his tantrum.

On the rare days Noah naps, I might lay down next to him if I'm desperate. Then I have to pretend like I'm really wanting to take a nap with him. Like I'm exhausted and it's my dearest dream to curl up on his ratty old blanket that smells faintly of pee and milk and take a nap. He knows what's happening and watches me with suspicious squinty eyes.

So then I have to pretend to fall asleep almost immediately. Mouth open, maybe a soft snore because I'm so comfortable and cannot wait to nap.

He then asks me "Can I get up when you get up?" because he knows as soon as he falls asleep, I will sneak out.

So I have to say "How about this? Whoever gets up first gets to stay up. And if the other person is sleeping, that person will keep sleeping. Could be either of us. It's a toss up."

He'll try to talk me out of making him nap.

"Mom, my heart doesn't want to nap. My heart is saying "Noah, I'm not tired. Let's get up and play."

"Noah, your heart doesn't know what's going on. Your heart wants to nap. It's tired. Your heart is a liar."

Eventually he'll start to fall asleep and I'll try to slide off the bottom bunk bed.

I put my leg and arm on the ground to begin my departure.

Sometimes Noah's eyes will pop open - suspicious, piggy, glaring at me. So then I immediately pretend like I'm sleeping.

I act like I am deep in the best sleep of my life, even if my right knee is on a lego and my right hand is still scrolling through Pinterest on my phone.

At some point he does fall asleep and I creep out.

After he wakes up, Noah accuses me of not waking him up when I left.

"Why didn't you let me leave with you?"

"Noah," I say, aghast with emotion, "Noah, I tried! I would've loved to stay up and play with you but you were sleeping so well, I couldn't get you to wake up! I was like "Noah, Noah, please play with me, don't sleep" but you just kept on sleeping."

Now is not the time for scruples and honesty.

Now is the time for sanity and yoga pants while you drink your wine in silence.

It's Still the Holidays! Somewhere.

Ever since the day after Christmas, I've been thinking to myself, "I should really write a Christmas post on the blog."

But then other thoughts would come and I'd forget all about the post.

Thoughts like:

"What should I make for dinner? We should be eating in 11 minutes and I've done nothing to prepare for this daily event."

"What's up with all the GoFundMe accounts? Medical ones I understand, crappy healthcare is the tie that binds most of it. But to give people money for their vacations? To purchase their hearing aids? Come on now. To put someone through college? To fund their wedding? Suffer through cheap young adulthood like everyone else."

"Where are my sweatpants?"

So you can see how I've just been swamped the past couple weeks. Hence, the late post. 

Our holiday season began with a trip to St. Augustine and their annual Nights of Lights (which is on the top 10 list of best city holiday light displays IN THE WORLD). Matt doesn't have much holiday spirit so I went with my mom. We went to the cool, big, wooden playground near the Visitors Center for awhile and then got on the trolleys to take the Holly Jolly Tour around the city. 

Doesn't that sound like fun?

They even give you these special 3D glasses that make all the lights look like snowflakes or ornaments.

I know the pictures are terrible but my phone froze halfway through so I borrowed my mom's phone and struggled with the settings. 

But really, by now, mediocre pictures are what you've come to expect from my blog.

We rode on the trolley and sang Christmas songs over the PA system and enjoyed that most beautiful city lit up for the holidays. During one song, possibly 'Santa Baby,' Noah starts loudly singing "We will, we will, ROCK YOU!" 

It really made the song.

Then we walked around the old Spanish area, which is one of my favorite places. One of the little shops had a "snow" machine, which was actually soap but these southern kids loved it.

We also ate at a Jacques Cousteau/Nautically themed eatery which serves only specialty waffles and milkshakes.

I know what you're thinking: It's about time all those things came together in one magical setting. It's only natural.

We also had a picture with Santa (in which Jack refused to participate or talk to Santa) and a picture with the world's tallest elf.

In carrying on the tradition, there were several photo sessions where I made everyone dress up in holiday attire and pose.

Everyone loves it.

Eventually, it gets so frustrating that I say "That's it! Everyone inside for dinner. Take off your antlers."

This year I even considered mailing out Christmas cards, which is a big step from years past when, if the idea of Christmas photos entered my head, I would immediately think "Screw it."

Christmas letters don't make much sense to me anymore after the advent of social media. Everyone sees pictures of my kids all the time and knows what we're doing.

Plus, I just didn't want to.


Our actual holiday was very nice. We hosted the traditional Christmas Eve dinner/ Aunt Becky's birthday/adult White Elephant gift exchange (as I type it, I realize that doesn't sound quite right.).

I try to take a picture on Christmas Eve but not this year. You'll have to wait a whole year to see my blurry cell phone picture. Sorry about your luck.

Everyone differs on this but I tend to not take a ton of pictures. First of all, most of the time nothing happens with them. They just sit on your cell phone or on your Facebook page or Instagram or whatever. Second, it tends to take over your experience. Rosie and I were at a party a couple weeks ago and we remarked that the people there weren't even really there, talking and laughing and enjoying each other. It was a couple hours of just selfies. Selfies of you, selfies of you and a friend, selfies of the whole group at the table, etc. One or two pictures, yes. But when people have 136 pictures in an album chronicling one average event, it seems to have become a problem.

Suffice it to say, I took three pictures on Christmas Day, two during the quiet afternoon at my parents house.

Christmas morning Matt and I woke up early and sat and drank hot things and had a moment to ourselves before the rabid anarchy of the morning begins. We did presents and had breakfast with Matt's parents. Noah got this construction worker set from Matt's parents and he is all about it.

We hung out and watched a movie and enjoyed the presents for awhile before we headed to my parents for lunch. It was around 80 degrees here on Christmas so my parents had a fire going ON THE TV. 

This is a picture of Christmas afternoon at my parents house. We spent some time out there sitting on the porch and listening to Kate's rendition of "Let It Go." Noah entertained us with another rousing chorus of "We Will Rock You." 

Which led to us googling the verses, while sipping our adult root beers.

Holiday Cheer.

We played games, we ate lots of food, we were together.

After Christmas, Matt took a couple days off. We considered renting a cabin in North Georgia but the weather up there was rainy. We looked into camping but lots of good sites were taken. So we stayed home. We went out to eat everyday with giftcards, we played in the yard with the kids, we played game after game of Monopoly. The trash talk, oh the trash talk. 

One day we went to Joe's Crab Shack and let the kids play on the beach. 

Tali and I spent some good time being chased by the waves and laughing.

Jack also overcame his fear and went on a (non-highway) ride around town on Matt's motorcycle. He said he might even let Papa take him on the jetski and go over 15 miles an hour. My dad, who is a safety-conscious engineer, says it's too cautious even for him.

Jack told us after the ride that he thought he was going to die the entire time. He told us "I said to myself, "Jack, this is it. Your last day on Earth.""

So that was our holiday. Consider this your Christmas newsletter/picture. And since it's already 2016, I'm just going to mark this one down as the 2016 holiday picture and letter. I'll let you know if anything changes.