So. Long time no type! I’ve had a drink or three. And a bad day.

As a rule, I avoid drinking. It peels away the armour I use to protect me from the slings and arrows of outrageous fate, leaves me vulnerable to any damn thing that comes down the pike.  But what the hell. Things are unlikely to get worse.

Finally, FINALLY, I have a chance to Blame My Parents! At long last, after a life-time of decidedly un-hip ill-disguised adoration of my parents, I can lay a little piece of misery right on their doorstep. I give you their song, “The Impossible Dream” from Man of La Mancha:

The Impossible Dream

“To reach the unreachable star, this is my quest, to follow that star, no matter how hopeless, no matter how far…”

I was reared on show tunes, born and raised on the belief that I was destined to find that kind of love. The crime was compounded with this, and THIS.

So what happened?

Sometimes the simple things are too much to ask, and you have one more broken romantic heart.

We don’t own joy - it is a gift given in moments, to those open to receive it.

Be thankful, and be ready. That little boy with the rolling belly laugh at gymnastics? It doesn’t get any better than that - thank you.

When I was in high school, I wrote proposals for experiments to go on the space shuttle as part of my chemistry and physics coursework. With ENTHUSIASM.

I have actually seen the space shuttle launch, from a distance, which still goes down as one of the most thrilling experiences of my life.

I’ve been interested in NASA’s work for a long time, but did anyone else look at their most recent venture and think WTF? We just spent $79 MILLION DOLLARS to find out if there is ice on the moon.

Why, you ask? I know I did. Here is the rationale touted in an article on MSNBC.com: “In the long term, ice reservoirs could be used to provide water for lunar settlements, as well as oxygen for breathing and hydrogen fuel for spacecraft. In the shorter term, learning about lunar water could help scientists reconstruct the ancient past of the Earth-moon system.” Click here to read the full text of the article.

Call me silly. Call me short-sighted. Call me PISSED OFF that we just spent $79 MILLION DOLLARS on this.

The state of Michigan is in such dire straits that we are contemplating cutting the Michigan Promise scholarship, which is financial aid promised to approximately 96,000 promising young students in the state of Michigan. Two of those students are mine, and I get physically ill when I think about what we will have to do to come up with that money if this goes the way I think it will. Can we get some federal aid for that? Don’t think so…

Is it just me, or do the reasons given for conducting this research seem too incredibly lame to be true? “…water for lunar settlements”?? REALLY?

Well, not AND gotten paid for it, like Kristin.

Thank you, Kristin, for this blog post, which so succinctly explains why, after five years as a freelancer, I just can’t take it anymore. I must admit, I surfed her blog with more than a little envy, and some other emotion I refuse to call regret. That is the life I probably would have led, if I had not embarked on the Mommy Road when I was so young.

I love the life I have now, wouldn’t change a thing, no way. But I can long, just a little, for far off places.

I started running a little over three years ago, in my late thirties. I’ve been pretty active most of my life, sort of a workout serial monogamist. Taebo, inline skating, walking the dog - I’ve remained more or less in motion, but running has led me to places I never even knew existed.

It started because I was angry. Mike and I had purchased a treadmill for our anniversary in January, because we both were at the point where it was do SOMETHING or buy all new clothes. One afternoon I went down to do my brisk three mile walk, and I was just PISSED at someone I can’t name here, and the walking, it wasn’t ENOUGH. So I ran for a bit. And thought, “Hmmm….” So the next day I ran farther, and so an obsession began.

I love to run. Maybe because the last five years of my professional life have been such an uncertain struggle, I like doing something where you get measurable results from the work you put in. And though it is not really considered a total body workout, something about running puts me in touch with every inch of my body, and I guess I really like that, seeing as we’ve been together all these years, my body and I, and we’ve got a few more to get through before I shuffle off this mortal coil.

I am a pretty crappy runner. That is not false modesty, it is really true. I am slow, and built for power, not speed. My only true athletic gift for running is pure stubbornness - I refuse to quit.

Most recently, I’ve become an enthusiastic convert to the world of triathlons. I did one last summer and vowed NEVER AGAIN, largely because my relationship with the bike ended badly. The particular bike I was using (borrowed, and worth more than my truck) did NOT NOT NOT suit me, and the pain of riding it eclipsed everything else about the tri for me. I hurt in places I could not even talk to my mother about.

So this year, I bought a bike off craigslist, just to noodle around with the kids with, and to have in case I fell on my head and decided to do another tri… And then I did! And I LOVE MY BIKE! It is a hybrid, a cross between a mountain bike and a street bike, and I could not be happier with it.

I am still really slow on the bike, and at least three people have said, “You know, if you’re going to take these triathlons seriously…” and that is where they lose me. I’m not. I am not trying to qualify for the Olympics here, folks. I just want to stay in touch with my toes, and my abs, and my calves, and… well, you get the picture.

If riding my hybrid bike means the end of my tri bling, so be it. I’ve embarked on a new obsession - and nothing about my past track record says I have to be any GOOD at it.

Eight years ago today, a little girl named Zoe was conceived. She was unplanned, but never, ever unwanted, and in the weeks and months that followed the despair of September 11th, I took enormous solace in her approaching birth. There is an immediacy about pregnancy, giving birth and tending to a newborn that keeps you simultaneously focused on the moment, and looking ahead to what will come. There was such promise there, such hope in my burgeoning belly, and when she arrived… well, see for yourself! She was the happiest baby, always smiling, quick to laugh. She was “The Glue”. Where once there were two families, now there was one, united and cemented by our adoration of this small girl.

Every year, on the anniversary of this day, I look back and remember what began that day, rather than focusing on what ended. Zoe is joyful and fierce, silly and scientific, and absolutely, utterly unique. She is agile, athletic and graceful, compassionate and stubborn and strong.

Eight years ago today, a little girl named Zoe lost her life when the plane she and her family were on crashed into the Pentagon. She was just 8 years old, one year older than my Zoe is today.

So today, I will hold my Zoe tight, and bury my nose in her neck to make her giggle, smell her wonderful little girl smell, feel her glorious hereness solid in my arms.

I’ll kiss the spot where her dimple hides, and probably have to holler at her over something, and I’ll hear all about her fourth day of second grade.

I will read her her favorite story, and sing her lullabies, and lie with her while she falls asleep. And in the soft, late summer twilight I know I’ll cry as I listen to her breathe, grieving for another little girl named Zoe.

I hope someday I say something like this, something that people quote in their blogs, or write on a note card to hang on the wall.

Something that reminds you that even when things are hard, and nothing is going your way, and even a waitressing job seems too much to ask, you always have a choice: be happy, or don’t.

The gloom of this world is but a shadow.
Behind it, yet within our reach,
is joy.
Take Joy.

—Fra Giovanni

If you’ve been following my blog, Reader, you know that I’ve been waffling on whether or not to do a triathlon this year. I decided to at the last minute (read: when I could still get the cheaper rate), even though I have not been training like I really should have, even for a sprint tri.

Well, I ran it on Saturday, and the good news is, I finished! And you know? It was just FUN! A LOT more fun than last year, when the entire thing just had me freaked out. I had a miserable swim, due in large part to lack of a wetsuit (lesson learned) and the beginnings of a head cold that made it tough to breath. The bike was OK, really, for me, and I did not push it like I should have on the run and had way too much left at the end. But I loved it. I’m hooked. I see more of these in my future, now that they are just fun instead of terrifying.

But this one was preceded by an episode of Husband Failure that is just too funny not to share. The night before the race, Mike had a buddy over, and it became pretty obvious that it was going to be one of THOSE evenings. I had gone for an easy little run, just to stay loose, and when I got back I decided to get all the stuff I dug up at my Mom’s that afternoon into the ground. By the time all of that was accomplished, it was time to chase the girls to bed (Tobin had a sleepover at Grandma’s) and crawl into the shower.

Being a responsible triathlete, I packed my gear, loaded my bike, and headed up to bed before my usual bedtime, to try and read myself sleepy. The noise level from downstairs indicated that a Good Time was Being Had By All, so I shut the door to my room and kicked on the fan. Moments later, I hear “Honey!! HONEY!! Come here QUICK!” I hobbled down the stairs, imagining the worst, to find that I had been summoned because the keyboard on MY computer was not working… Because MY braincells were still fully functional, I rebooted, smacked some heads, and went back up to sleep.

Around 2:00 A.M., my beloved stumbled up the stairs.

“Honey. HONEY! Wake up. What is your password on Facebook?”

Well. Now. CLEARLY that was vital information. Definitely worth waking me up for, the night before a race. And even at 2:00 A.M., I am nobody’s fool. When it was clear that he was going to settle in for a lengthy session of pestering to get the password after my initial refusal, I got up to pee and simply located another bed until he decided to stumble back down the stairs.

2:30 A.M., and once again comes my beloved, this time thinking, “Hey! Time to get lucky!”

Dear Reader, I will spare you the details of my tactful refusal and his inebriated attempts at persuasion. Suffice it to say that in very short order he was once again stumbling back down the stairs (still, I might add, wearing his VERY LOUD BOOTS), miraculously still in possession of all his body parts.

3:00 A.M. He is back. The VERY LOUD BOOTS were tossed to the closet, the dirty socks thrown woefully short of the hamper. Dimly I become aware that he is messing with the alarm clock, which I have set for 5:00. I am instantly awake. “WHATAREYOUDOING?!”

“Honey! You don’t need to get up at 5:00! What time does the race start again?”

Because 3:00 in the morning, the day before a race, it is a good idea to MICRO MANAGE ME. Yeah, that is a GOOD IDEA.

I don’t remember clearly what I said, or did. I do know that the alarm remained set at 5:00, and am pretty sure I did not do or say anything that might require legal action if I were to confess it.

As you might guess, my beloved and my girls were not there to see me off for the swim leg of my race. And they weren’t there when I came in from the swim to head out on the bike. And they still hadn’t made it when I got back from the bike and took off for the run. But when I crossed the finish line, there they were in all their uncombed glory, my girls, and my beloved, who might as well have been wearing a sign over his head that said, “Epic Hangover.”

He took pictures, and kissed and hugged me IN PUBLIC, and helped me haul my gear back out to the truck.

I can’t wrap this up neatly with “All is forgiven” though. That would imply that I was actually MAD, which I wasn’t. Really. I was irritated, yes, but more than that I was amused in a resigned sort of way. The whole series of events just sort of epitomizes My Life as Wife and Mom - my entire crew really sucks at noticing when Mom might need something, like a little extra sleep. And fixing that just adds to an already silly list of things to do.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.

My neighbor is a lawyer, and I need to ask him if saying, belligerently, “Did you make any money today?” for the bajillionth day in a row is considered enough provocation to justify assault. I need to know. Because I don’t want to do time, but if THAT MAN says that ONE MORE TIME…

Self defense, right? I mean, I have to defend my mental stability, right? And swear to God, if he starts in on that teeth-grinding refrain again, I’ll twitch out.

I will.