7 miles this am, and home before 7am. Talk about gritting my teeth and slogging through. My whole stomach was tied up in cramps and my back was very sore at the same time. I am unaccustomed to having pain on both sides like that, and it resulted in a less-graceful-than-usual gait, which I watched my shadow struggle through with interest. Also, my long-beloved ipod sensor has gone awry and is measuring me at least a minute slower/mile than it should – which means I was running as fast as possible only to show a slow pace. Based on my limited understanding of how the sensor works, too (all I have is this wee squirrel brain, after all) the pace imputes the distance, so it also underreports how far I have run.
So, in short, it was a slow, short, very uncomfortable run this am.
Not feeling very confident about my ability to do 13.1 in six short days. Gulp.

“I discovered that my gift had its price, which took the form of, in my case as in his, a sort of mental darkness” – Donna Tartt, The Secret History

Photo is of a cool ceiling lamp I saw recently. Feeling tired and a little raw around the edges today. Mental darkness, perhaps, creeping over the land inside my head (a land best described as an echoing, empty cavern with a really annoying echo). My back is bothering me a lot lately, and I keep hoping it’s just from unstretched quads or something … but tonight it feels different, almost more internal and holistic than muscular and local – and it’s got me a little unnerved. I plan to take an ambien and escape both my troublesome body and my noisy mind.

This was a big weekend for Whit witticisms. Or just funny behavior.

After channeling the Luke Wilson’s angsty neo-preppy all day yesterday, he woke up (at 6am no less) full of vim and vigor. I busted him late this morning in the dining room, pants around his ankles, leaning forward and about to pee into a big silver urn that I use for flowers. Nice. Classy kid. Then when he finally sat on the potty, he passed a little gas and exclaimed in delight, “Mummy! My bottom is talking!”
While driving to Park for their spring fair, he commented on the CD that was playing, saying “I love this Johnny Cash song.” Indeed. I agree. After the fair Whit and Grace were playing in the back yard (“yard”) for a while, and I was happily puttering inside. When I heard him screaming for me, with slightly more genuine panic and distress than usual I went outside and found that he had climbed into the basketball net (not super high, but 3 feet off the ground) and was stuck in there. He was in a pike position, bottom down in the net, and reminded me weirdly of a burlesque dancer in a big plastic champagne glass. This kid is All Boy.

I absolutely love this post: Lies I’ve told my three year old recently. It is funny and poignant and right on the money. Makes me think of things I tell the children – the only one that comes to mind is the way I do a little bad dreams/monsters/dragons go away dance by their beds if they are feeling nervous about going to sleep. I sometimes give Whit a good dreams head rub when he is really upset.

Will think of more.