With my boys, it's "monkey see, monkey do." And I mean that literally.
Virtually anything J.P. does, Joe tries to do. If J.P. squeals or makes an unusual noise (grunts, roars, etc.), Joe, ever the perfect mimic, squeals or makes the same noise. It's beyond funny to watch. Jude and I just look at each other, shake our heads and laugh.
Last night, the boys were taking a bath together. Joe was sitting in his bath chair, facing J.P. J.P. started kicking his legs and splashing water, laughing the whole time. Joe immediately starts kicking his little legs and splashing water, also smiling and laughing. The more Joe kicked, the more J.P. laughed. And the more J.P. laughs, the more Joe will do whatever he is doing that is making J.P. laugh (splashing, spitting, squealing, throwing things, etc.).
This afternoon, after I went for a quick 3-mile run in the 'hood, we were hanging out in the front yard. For some reason, J.P. decided it would be funny to open an umbrella, sit down in the tall monkey grass in front of our front porch and pretend to be a groundhog in a burrow. It was kind of funny, given that all you could see was the top of the umbrella, with J.P.'s disembodied voice coming from underneath it. Joe walked over to the monkey grass and sat down in it, just like J.P. He looked up at me and smiled proudly, as got up, then plopped down again. He repeated this several times as we looked on and laughed.
The good news, of course, is that J.P. is an amazing big brother. He loves Joe so much and never appears to be jealous of any attention Joe gets. My hope is that as they grow older, J.P. and Joe will continue to be close. I have a dream of them traveling to Europe or elsewhere together when they're older, during or right after college. I want them to be the best of friends.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Friday, June 7, 2013
Vocabulary Words
Damn, I love this guy.
It's funny, but on the development timeline (whatever the hell that is), Joe seems to do everything a little bit sonner than J.P. did. J.P. never really crawled much. Instead, at about 14 months old, one day on the back deck, he just started walking (I can see it now - J.P. in his "yellow and orange 'basketball' t-shirt, doing the 'drunken sailor' walk, reeling diagonally across the back deck from Jude to me and me to Jude, as we beamed with pride on a spring evening). Joey, on the other hand, did the "army crawl" at 10 months or so, crawling across the floor on his forearms. By the time he was a year old, Joey was crawling everywhere, literally scooting across the hardwood floors upstairs and downstairs, moving so quickly we had to keep a constant eye on him. Shortly, thereafer, he was walking (the "drunken sailor" walk, of course) across the rug in front of the fireplace in our den, hands outstretched over his head for balance. Awesome!
We're convinced Joe crawled and walked earlier than J.P. because he wanted to keep up with his brother. Everything J.P. does, Joe wants to do, too. J.P. laughs, Joe laughs. J.P. screams, Joe screams. Joe desparately wants to keep up with his big brother. And that's pretty cool.
Talking (or trying to talk) is the same way. As I recall, Jude and I (okay, not so much Jude) were a little concerned, early on, that J.P. wasn't talking as soon as we thought he should. Suddenly, at about age 2, the words burst forth like a fountain. It was pretty amazing. Joe has been "talking," already, for quite a while, actually. Granted, it's not talking in the traditional sense, but he definitely makes sounds (now words, at times) repeatedly that have a specific meaning.
Here's a vocabulary list, courtesy of Joe, a silver-tongued devil if there ever was one:
1. Ada. Okay, that means light, especially the decorative, unique (strange) hanging ball of a light upstairs above the stairwell. It's almost a "disco ball" light, gold in color, metal with lots of holes in it (ball shaped). When you turn it on at night (and the other lights are off), the effect is kind of dazzling and beautiful - dots of light, shimmering, all over the walls upstairs. "Ada" was really his first word. At night, before bedtime, I would hold him in my arms, turn the other lights off and spin the "gold ball" slowly. He'd look at the patterns of light on the walls, smile, and say breathlessly, "Ada." Every single time. J.P. had a very similar reaction to that light when he was a baby.
2. Pa-PA. There's a photograph on a ledge on the landing of the stairs (we have a several photographs there of friends and family) of Jude's family at Mardi Gras from long ago. When we take the boys upstairs to get ready for bed at night, Joe always stops and points at this particular photograph, actually points directly at Jude's dad, and says, "Pa-PA!" It's pretty funny.
3. MA-MA/Da-Da. Okay, that's self-explanatory. I'm not sure which one he said first (J.P. said "Da-Da" first and still occasionally calls me "Da-Da"). I can tell you, though, when Joe says "Ma-Ma!" he has a big smile on his face. That boy adores him mother.
4. Pa-Tee. I'm not sure how or why, but "Pa-Tee" means "J.P." Really, really funny (not so much to J.P., who says it sounds too much like "potty"). Joe points at J.P. and says "Pa-Tee," and we all laugh.
5. Och. One of my favorites. It means "I want that." Joe points and says "Och," and we pick up things until we figure out what it is that he wants. It's become a family inside joke, actually, to the point that if I say "Och," J.P. will say, "Daddy, what do you want?" Also very funny.
6. Down. This one's impressive, really, and favorite of Joe's for a couple of months now. If I am playting with him on our bed while Jude showers downstairs, he's perfectly content until he hears her walking upstaris. Immediately, she says quite clearly, "down!" When she walks in, he says it again, and she sets him down on the floor and off he goes behind her, like a duckling waddlng after his mother duck.
7. Dankoo. This, of course, is "thank you." It's been a popular word (or words) for him for a while. He knows what it means, too, because when we hand Joe something, he'll hit us with a resounding "Dankoo!"
8. Nini. That's "Mini," one of our cats. Joe points at her and says, rather emphatically, "Nini!"
9. Bye Bye. Self-explantory, but he knows what it means. Of course, he'll repeat "bye bye" all the way home from somewhere we've been. Over and over again.
10. Up. A little tricky, because "up" has two meanings. One - pick me up. Two - throw this up in the air. I like the second meaning, particuarly when we lay on our bed and he plucks the red plastic apple from his Nashville Predators' "old schooll" metal lunch box, hands it to me, and says "up!" He wants me to toss the apple in the air, which I do, again and agian. And it never gets old, because he loves it.
11. MOUO! My current favorite. I really can't spell it accurately enough to do it justice. Any time Joe is eating, though (and he's a good eater), he finishes what he's eating and immediately says "MOUO!" When he says it, his voice rises several octaves so he finished with squeal. Also, "MOUO!" is accompanied, every time, by Joe banging his fists together, making the sign langueage symbol for "more," which he learned from our nanny and friend, Carley Meade. Very cool and very funny. I really, really don't know how to spell it.
Joe is such a bright kid. He looks like J.P. and he looks like me and he makes me smile every time I look at him.
It's funny, but on the development timeline (whatever the hell that is), Joe seems to do everything a little bit sonner than J.P. did. J.P. never really crawled much. Instead, at about 14 months old, one day on the back deck, he just started walking (I can see it now - J.P. in his "yellow and orange 'basketball' t-shirt, doing the 'drunken sailor' walk, reeling diagonally across the back deck from Jude to me and me to Jude, as we beamed with pride on a spring evening). Joey, on the other hand, did the "army crawl" at 10 months or so, crawling across the floor on his forearms. By the time he was a year old, Joey was crawling everywhere, literally scooting across the hardwood floors upstairs and downstairs, moving so quickly we had to keep a constant eye on him. Shortly, thereafer, he was walking (the "drunken sailor" walk, of course) across the rug in front of the fireplace in our den, hands outstretched over his head for balance. Awesome!
We're convinced Joe crawled and walked earlier than J.P. because he wanted to keep up with his brother. Everything J.P. does, Joe wants to do, too. J.P. laughs, Joe laughs. J.P. screams, Joe screams. Joe desparately wants to keep up with his big brother. And that's pretty cool.
Talking (or trying to talk) is the same way. As I recall, Jude and I (okay, not so much Jude) were a little concerned, early on, that J.P. wasn't talking as soon as we thought he should. Suddenly, at about age 2, the words burst forth like a fountain. It was pretty amazing. Joe has been "talking," already, for quite a while, actually. Granted, it's not talking in the traditional sense, but he definitely makes sounds (now words, at times) repeatedly that have a specific meaning.
Here's a vocabulary list, courtesy of Joe, a silver-tongued devil if there ever was one:
1. Ada. Okay, that means light, especially the decorative, unique (strange) hanging ball of a light upstairs above the stairwell. It's almost a "disco ball" light, gold in color, metal with lots of holes in it (ball shaped). When you turn it on at night (and the other lights are off), the effect is kind of dazzling and beautiful - dots of light, shimmering, all over the walls upstairs. "Ada" was really his first word. At night, before bedtime, I would hold him in my arms, turn the other lights off and spin the "gold ball" slowly. He'd look at the patterns of light on the walls, smile, and say breathlessly, "Ada." Every single time. J.P. had a very similar reaction to that light when he was a baby.
2. Pa-PA. There's a photograph on a ledge on the landing of the stairs (we have a several photographs there of friends and family) of Jude's family at Mardi Gras from long ago. When we take the boys upstairs to get ready for bed at night, Joe always stops and points at this particular photograph, actually points directly at Jude's dad, and says, "Pa-PA!" It's pretty funny.
3. MA-MA/Da-Da. Okay, that's self-explanatory. I'm not sure which one he said first (J.P. said "Da-Da" first and still occasionally calls me "Da-Da"). I can tell you, though, when Joe says "Ma-Ma!" he has a big smile on his face. That boy adores him mother.
4. Pa-Tee. I'm not sure how or why, but "Pa-Tee" means "J.P." Really, really funny (not so much to J.P., who says it sounds too much like "potty"). Joe points at J.P. and says "Pa-Tee," and we all laugh.
5. Och. One of my favorites. It means "I want that." Joe points and says "Och," and we pick up things until we figure out what it is that he wants. It's become a family inside joke, actually, to the point that if I say "Och," J.P. will say, "Daddy, what do you want?" Also very funny.
6. Down. This one's impressive, really, and favorite of Joe's for a couple of months now. If I am playting with him on our bed while Jude showers downstairs, he's perfectly content until he hears her walking upstaris. Immediately, she says quite clearly, "down!" When she walks in, he says it again, and she sets him down on the floor and off he goes behind her, like a duckling waddlng after his mother duck.
7. Dankoo. This, of course, is "thank you." It's been a popular word (or words) for him for a while. He knows what it means, too, because when we hand Joe something, he'll hit us with a resounding "Dankoo!"
8. Nini. That's "Mini," one of our cats. Joe points at her and says, rather emphatically, "Nini!"
9. Bye Bye. Self-explantory, but he knows what it means. Of course, he'll repeat "bye bye" all the way home from somewhere we've been. Over and over again.
10. Up. A little tricky, because "up" has two meanings. One - pick me up. Two - throw this up in the air. I like the second meaning, particuarly when we lay on our bed and he plucks the red plastic apple from his Nashville Predators' "old schooll" metal lunch box, hands it to me, and says "up!" He wants me to toss the apple in the air, which I do, again and agian. And it never gets old, because he loves it.
11. MOUO! My current favorite. I really can't spell it accurately enough to do it justice. Any time Joe is eating, though (and he's a good eater), he finishes what he's eating and immediately says "MOUO!" When he says it, his voice rises several octaves so he finished with squeal. Also, "MOUO!" is accompanied, every time, by Joe banging his fists together, making the sign langueage symbol for "more," which he learned from our nanny and friend, Carley Meade. Very cool and very funny. I really, really don't know how to spell it.
Joe is such a bright kid. He looks like J.P. and he looks like me and he makes me smile every time I look at him.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Baseball
Yesterday, JP played his last 2 baseball games of the season, and it makes me a little bit sad. Sad that his baseball season is over and sad that I haven't found the time to write about it.
In the winter, out of the blue, JP mentioned to us that he'd rather play baseball this spring than soccer. Music to my ears, of course, given that baseball is my favorite sport and I really don't know much, if anything, about soccer. Within hours, I signed him up for the "Wookie" League (5-6 year olds) in the West Nashville Sports League. I also agreed to help coach.
In short, it was awesome (for me as well as JP, I hope). One of my bucket list items - before I even had children - was to coach them in baseball. This was t-ball/coach pitch, which means each child gets 5 pitches from the coach and if he doesn't get a hit, the tee comes out. Our team was the Indians.
Sadly, we only got to practice a time or two due to rainout games being rescheduled, but the games on Saturdays were a blast.
The boys were all so young and innocent. Most of them hadn't started school yet, so it was probably the last time they'd play a sport without, at least in the back of their minds, having to deal with the social pressures of school. They all ran around the field, chasing the ball every time a player on the other time hit it, ending up piled up on top of each other in the dirt. Some boys sat down and played in the dirt, some boys put their gloves on their head and some boys stayed in the "baseball ready position" (bent at the waist, glove and free hand on knees, eyes staring intently at the batter). They all begged Coach Sean to let them play first base or pitcher. One or two boys cried about something every game. Just 5 and 6 year old boys doing what 5 and 6 year old boys do.
My sense is that by next year, a lot of the boys will understand more about winning and losing, succeeding and failing, keeping score, etc. And that makes me a little sad, too. Sad for the loss of innocence and the joy of playing a game - baseball - just for the fun of playing it.
JP did great. He hit pretty well, rarely having to use the tee. He didn't hit the ball particularly hard, but he almost always made good contact. He throws the ball surprisingly well. Catching, at this point, is a challenge, but that's true of almost all of the boys on his team. It's strange, but I have no independent recollection of learning how to catch a baseball. It seems like it's something I always knew how to do (which obviously isn't the case). That makes it harder for me, I think, to teach JP how to catch.
If I had to guess, right now, I'd predict JP will be an average athlete with good hand-eye coordination (just like his old man). He'll be intense, competitive and really, really want to win (just like his old man). He'll probably be able to play a lot of sports reasonably well but won't stand out at any one sport (just like his old man). And that's just fine with me. What I want him to get out of playing sports is to learn what it's like to be part of a team. I want him to learn the value of hard work and practice. And, yes, I want him to learn how to handle winning and losing without falling to pieces. There's real value in that, as a life experience.
My enduring memory of JP's first baseball season will be standing on the field with him at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ during games, smiling as he stood in the "baseball ready" position with a look of concentration on his face as he watched the batter and waited for him to hit the ball. As soon as the ball was hit - anywhere on the field - off JP went to try and get it.
Baseball.
In the winter, out of the blue, JP mentioned to us that he'd rather play baseball this spring than soccer. Music to my ears, of course, given that baseball is my favorite sport and I really don't know much, if anything, about soccer. Within hours, I signed him up for the "Wookie" League (5-6 year olds) in the West Nashville Sports League. I also agreed to help coach.
In short, it was awesome (for me as well as JP, I hope). One of my bucket list items - before I even had children - was to coach them in baseball. This was t-ball/coach pitch, which means each child gets 5 pitches from the coach and if he doesn't get a hit, the tee comes out. Our team was the Indians.
Sadly, we only got to practice a time or two due to rainout games being rescheduled, but the games on Saturdays were a blast.
The boys were all so young and innocent. Most of them hadn't started school yet, so it was probably the last time they'd play a sport without, at least in the back of their minds, having to deal with the social pressures of school. They all ran around the field, chasing the ball every time a player on the other time hit it, ending up piled up on top of each other in the dirt. Some boys sat down and played in the dirt, some boys put their gloves on their head and some boys stayed in the "baseball ready position" (bent at the waist, glove and free hand on knees, eyes staring intently at the batter). They all begged Coach Sean to let them play first base or pitcher. One or two boys cried about something every game. Just 5 and 6 year old boys doing what 5 and 6 year old boys do.
My sense is that by next year, a lot of the boys will understand more about winning and losing, succeeding and failing, keeping score, etc. And that makes me a little sad, too. Sad for the loss of innocence and the joy of playing a game - baseball - just for the fun of playing it.
JP did great. He hit pretty well, rarely having to use the tee. He didn't hit the ball particularly hard, but he almost always made good contact. He throws the ball surprisingly well. Catching, at this point, is a challenge, but that's true of almost all of the boys on his team. It's strange, but I have no independent recollection of learning how to catch a baseball. It seems like it's something I always knew how to do (which obviously isn't the case). That makes it harder for me, I think, to teach JP how to catch.
If I had to guess, right now, I'd predict JP will be an average athlete with good hand-eye coordination (just like his old man). He'll be intense, competitive and really, really want to win (just like his old man). He'll probably be able to play a lot of sports reasonably well but won't stand out at any one sport (just like his old man). And that's just fine with me. What I want him to get out of playing sports is to learn what it's like to be part of a team. I want him to learn the value of hard work and practice. And, yes, I want him to learn how to handle winning and losing without falling to pieces. There's real value in that, as a life experience.
My enduring memory of JP's first baseball season will be standing on the field with him at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ during games, smiling as he stood in the "baseball ready" position with a look of concentration on his face as he watched the batter and waited for him to hit the ball. As soon as the ball was hit - anywhere on the field - off JP went to try and get it.
Baseball.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
The Cycle of (College) Life
It's Sunday afternoon and I'm sitting at the table by the front window of Bongo Java, one of my favorite spots here. Joe is sleeping beside me in the City Elite, oblivious to the hum of activity all around him. I'm listening to a 70's mix on Spotify, so I can't hear the music playing over the sound system. Likewise, I can't hear bits and pieces of conversations people are having over coffee at nearby tables.
It's kind of cool, though, to look around and see people talking - some animatedly - but not to be able to hear what they're talking about. When I look out fo the front window on to the deck, I see tables of people - mostly Belmont U. students - talking and laughing. A few (including my friend and resident barrista artist, George) are engaged in conversations that appear to be a little more serious. They're drinking coffee (all kinds of coffee drinks), smoking and talking. A few people are sitting along, studying or working on laptops.
My favorite is the guy sitting on the deck, by himself, smoking a pipe while he works on his laptop. He's clearly a college student, probably not even 22 years old. Oh, did I mention he's smoking a pipe? I see that here occasionally and it absolutely kills me every time. I want to walk up to him and ask him if he realizes how utterly ridiculous he looks. I also want to tell him that in 10 years, when he recalls that he smoked a pipe in college, he'll be embarrassed beyond belief.
There are a few "townies" at Bongo Java this afternoon, like Joe and me. A couple of them have their dogs with them or are stopping by after finishing a run on Belmont Boulevard. Mostly, it's students, though.
The students finish exams the day after tomorrow. Graduation is a week from yesterday. Belmont's campus will be abuzz with actifity this week, as parents arrive to help their sons and daughters pack up their dormitory rooms and apartments to move home for the summer. Other parents and family members will descend on campus to celebrate their son's or daughter's graduation. When exams end, the students will stay out a little later and be a little (or a lot) more rambunctious as they celebrate the end of another school year. They'll pack up another year's worth of college memories and say goodbye to their friends until they return to campus the end of the summer to do it all again.
By next Sunday, the students and their families will be gone and summer will be here. In college towns or communities with colleges or universities at their epicenter, the seasons pass on a little different timetable than in the rest of the world. Here, in my adopted neighborhood, summer starts way early - in early May - after graduation, when the students return home. Summer ends in early August, when fall semester begins and the students return to campus.
Bongo Java will close an hour ealier at night (10 p.m., rather than 11 p.m.). Parking will be a lot better. It will be easier to get a table at the restaurants/bars (P.M, Chago's, Blvd. Nashville and International Market). Traffic will be a lot lighter, too. It's nice for the first couple of weeks, but then I'll start to miss the Belmont U. students, probably because I feel a bit younger just being around them. I like to think their innocence, their energy, their enthusiam rubs off on me. At the very least, it makes me smile.
Happy summer, Belmont U. students. Happy life, graduates.
It's kind of cool, though, to look around and see people talking - some animatedly - but not to be able to hear what they're talking about. When I look out fo the front window on to the deck, I see tables of people - mostly Belmont U. students - talking and laughing. A few (including my friend and resident barrista artist, George) are engaged in conversations that appear to be a little more serious. They're drinking coffee (all kinds of coffee drinks), smoking and talking. A few people are sitting along, studying or working on laptops.
My favorite is the guy sitting on the deck, by himself, smoking a pipe while he works on his laptop. He's clearly a college student, probably not even 22 years old. Oh, did I mention he's smoking a pipe? I see that here occasionally and it absolutely kills me every time. I want to walk up to him and ask him if he realizes how utterly ridiculous he looks. I also want to tell him that in 10 years, when he recalls that he smoked a pipe in college, he'll be embarrassed beyond belief.
There are a few "townies" at Bongo Java this afternoon, like Joe and me. A couple of them have their dogs with them or are stopping by after finishing a run on Belmont Boulevard. Mostly, it's students, though.
The students finish exams the day after tomorrow. Graduation is a week from yesterday. Belmont's campus will be abuzz with actifity this week, as parents arrive to help their sons and daughters pack up their dormitory rooms and apartments to move home for the summer. Other parents and family members will descend on campus to celebrate their son's or daughter's graduation. When exams end, the students will stay out a little later and be a little (or a lot) more rambunctious as they celebrate the end of another school year. They'll pack up another year's worth of college memories and say goodbye to their friends until they return to campus the end of the summer to do it all again.
By next Sunday, the students and their families will be gone and summer will be here. In college towns or communities with colleges or universities at their epicenter, the seasons pass on a little different timetable than in the rest of the world. Here, in my adopted neighborhood, summer starts way early - in early May - after graduation, when the students return home. Summer ends in early August, when fall semester begins and the students return to campus.
Bongo Java will close an hour ealier at night (10 p.m., rather than 11 p.m.). Parking will be a lot better. It will be easier to get a table at the restaurants/bars (P.M, Chago's, Blvd. Nashville and International Market). Traffic will be a lot lighter, too. It's nice for the first couple of weeks, but then I'll start to miss the Belmont U. students, probably because I feel a bit younger just being around them. I like to think their innocence, their energy, their enthusiam rubs off on me. At the very least, it makes me smile.
Happy summer, Belmont U. students. Happy life, graduates.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
The Runner I Used to Be
This is hard for me to write but, at the same time, it's something I need to write. It's also something I've been thinking about writing for a long time.
The Country Music Marathon and Half Marathon was today and for only the second time since the race's reincarnation more than a decade ago, I didn't run it. This time last year, I gutted out the half marathon when I probably shouldn't have run it. This year, I wasn't in anywhere near the shape I need to be in to run a half marathon, so I decided to sit the race out.
And in arriving at that decision, I felt really sad.
Since Joe was born in February 2012, I've had a difficult time striking a balance between work, family and running. I never anticipated how much less time would be available when Jude and I had our second child.
(Editor's Note - I am not in complainting about having two children. Jude and I have been blessed beyond hope and belief to have two active, healthy boys. Our lives would seem empty without them).
I don't play golf. I don't bowl in a league. I retired from city league softball after J.P. was born. What I do, though, is run. Or at least that's what I used to do. Now, I'm lucky to get 1 or 2 runs in a week, usually a quick 3 miles sometime after 9 p.m., after the boys are down for the night. I'm lucky to get 10 miles in for an entire week. 10 miles used to be a Saturday morning long run for me (those were the days).
I used to routinely run 20 miles a week, minimum. I've run 1000 miles in a year twice, once after J.P. was born. I used to race, a lot. I used to run the trails at Shelby Bottoms, the Bryant Grove Trail in Lebanon, the Bicentennial Trail in Ashland City and the horse trails at Percy Warner Park. I used to run in the heat, in the cold and in the rain. Now, not so much.
Last December, Joe got RSV and wasn't sleeping well. In fact, he wasn't sleeping in his crib much at all. He would, however, sleep in his stroller (God Bless the Baby Jogger City Elite). One night about 3 a.m., as I was struggling to carry the stroller upstairs, half asleep, I hurt my low back. I didn't realize it at the time, but for the next two weeks, I was in a great deal of pain. I didn't sleep much and it was hard to get around.
I have a history of low back pain, but I hadn't dealt with anything like this since I was in college. I stopped running and hoped it would pass. The pain lessened but it never disappeared completely. I've been able to run occasionally, but not with any frequency. I realize I should have gone to the doctor but, in truth, I've been afraid of what he would tell me.
Lately, I've had hip pain on my right side, worse after I run. That's been discouraging, as well. In truth, I haven't reallly felt right for the past 4-5 months. I vascillate between a feeling of resignation - this is what happens to your body as you get older (aches, pains), so deal with it - and a feeling that something more serious is going on. I'm to the point now, finally, where I want and need to know what I'm dealing with, so I'm scdeduled to see a neurosurgeon I know in a week or so. I just want to feel like myself again, from a physical standpoint.
Running has been such an important part of my life for so long. It's part of my identity, part of who I am. It's just something I do, for me. I take pride in it (maybe too much so), mabye to the point of vanity. Running keeps me sane. It makes me feel good about myself. It give me self-confidence and makes me feel younger than I am. It changes my outlook - and not in a good way - when I can't run. I've never had a stretch like this where I wasn't running regularly - not in the 20 + years I have been a serious runner. And it's absolutely killing me.
It's hard for me to explain to people who aren't avid runners. And it's hard for people who aren't avid runners to understand. When I'm not able to run, I feel like something has been taken away from me. Something I need to survive and thrive. I need to run.
I realize I'm feeling sorry for myself today (and lately), as it relates to my failure to run regularly. If I can feel better, I can run late at night or, in the alternative, I can get up at 5 a.m. and run in the mornings. Plenty of runners do that and there's not reason I can't do it, too. For me, usually, it's about getting the miles in, stacking them up, 1 mile at a time. 1 run at a time. I've got to get back to it. I have to.
Last December, Joe got RSV and wasn't sleeping well. In fact, he wasn't sleeping in his crib much at all. He would, however, sleep in his stroller (God Bless the Baby Jogger City Elite). One night about 3 a.m., as I was struggling to carry the stroller upstairs, half asleep, I hurt my low back. I didn't realize it at the time, but for the next two weeks, I was in a great deal of pain. I didn't sleep much and it was hard to get around.
I have a history of low back pain, but I hadn't dealt with anything like this since I was in college. I stopped running and hoped it would pass. The pain lessened but it never disappeared completely. I've been able to run occasionally, but not with any frequency. I realize I should have gone to the doctor but, in truth, I've been afraid of what he would tell me.
Lately, I've had hip pain on my right side, worse after I run. That's been discouraging, as well. In truth, I haven't reallly felt right for the past 4-5 months. I vascillate between a feeling of resignation - this is what happens to your body as you get older (aches, pains), so deal with it - and a feeling that something more serious is going on. I'm to the point now, finally, where I want and need to know what I'm dealing with, so I'm scdeduled to see a neurosurgeon I know in a week or so. I just want to feel like myself again, from a physical standpoint.
Running has been such an important part of my life for so long. It's part of my identity, part of who I am. It's just something I do, for me. I take pride in it (maybe too much so), mabye to the point of vanity. Running keeps me sane. It makes me feel good about myself. It give me self-confidence and makes me feel younger than I am. It changes my outlook - and not in a good way - when I can't run. I've never had a stretch like this where I wasn't running regularly - not in the 20 + years I have been a serious runner. And it's absolutely killing me.
It's hard for me to explain to people who aren't avid runners. And it's hard for people who aren't avid runners to understand. When I'm not able to run, I feel like something has been taken away from me. Something I need to survive and thrive. I need to run.
I realize I'm feeling sorry for myself today (and lately), as it relates to my failure to run regularly. If I can feel better, I can run late at night or, in the alternative, I can get up at 5 a.m. and run in the mornings. Plenty of runners do that and there's not reason I can't do it, too. For me, usually, it's about getting the miles in, stacking them up, 1 mile at a time. 1 run at a time. I've got to get back to it. I have to.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Laughing
One of the true blessings in my life is watching J.P. and Joe interact with each other.
Jude and I are lucky in that form the day we brought Joe home from the hospital, J.P. has never shown a bit of jealously toward him. If anything, we've had to caution J.P., at times, to give Joe some space and not love on him too much.
J.P. can make Joe laugh, anytime, anywhere. Occasionally, when I'm feeding Joe and he starts fussing and doesn't want to eat, J.P. will start making faces at him or making noises. Immediately, Joe stares at J.P., starts smiling and I'm able get him to eat again. Joe idolizes his big brother.
Last night, Jude was upstairs, getting the boys ready for bed. I heard J.P. laughing, followed by Joe laughing. I went upstairs and found Joe, with Jude, laying on his back in our bed. Suddenly, J.P. ran into the room and yelled, loudly, then laughed hysterically and ran out of the room. Joe screamed just as loudly, then laughed hysterically, kicking his feet in the air the whole time. And they did it again, and again, and again, yelling, screaming and laughing the entire time. Jude and I couldn't stop laughing either, just watching them.
It was pretty awesome.
Monday, April 15, 2013
One Small Step for Man
For the past few weeks, Joe has been teetering - literally - on the edge of walking. He had progressed from making his way around the room by holding onto a chair, a table leg, the wall, my leg, etc., to taking a few, unsteady steps on his own. Then, as Jude and I sat across from each other in the den, he began taking a few steps, walking from one of us to the other and back again. For the most part, it was the drunken sailor walk, hands extended over his head, reeling from side to side, very unsteady on his feet. You know, like a drunken sailor!
Last weekend, though, Joe really turned the corner. It's like, almost overnight, a light bulb went off and all of a sudden he has balance when he walks. He holds his hands lower and doesn't reel from side to side. Occasionally, he leans backward and plops down on his butt when he loses his balance. For the most part, he walks wherever he wants to go. Amazingly, Joe can walk while carrying something in one of his hands.
As milestones go, of course, learning to walk is a giant one. It's a game changer for Jude, J.P. and me, as there's no limit to what Joe can get into now. One minute he's right beside me and, if I turn away for a second, he's off to the races. It's more than a little scary, actually. He tries to follow J.P. and, when he catches him, gives him a hug. That's pretty cool, except that when he hugs J.P., he usually loses his balance and falls.
In many ways, it's like watching a tightrope walker at the circus, as Joe walks across our hardwood floors, starting and stopping, and occasionally stumbling. I live in a constant state of fear that he's going to fall and hit his head on the floor. I'm happy he's walking and, yet, things were so much easier when he was crawling.
The larger issue for me, really, is that I'm not sure I'm ready for Joe to be walking. It's a recurring theme that runs throughout this blog, I know. It's probably a character flaw of some sort or a personality disorder at least, but I can't help it. My son is growing up and it makes me feel helpless, in a way, because there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop the passage of time. It seems worse, too, with Joe than it was with J.P., in the sense that time seems to be passing more quickly. Everything seems to happening faster.
I suspect it's because I'm so busy - with work, with J.P. and Joe, with family stuff - but Joe's first year seems to have passed so much more quickly than did J.P.'s. I'm older, too. Also, I've already been through these milestones with J.P., so maybe because it's not all brand new to me, time passes more quickly, from milestone to milestone.
I try to avoid it, but sometimes, especially late at night when I'm in bed trying to fall asleep, I start going the math in my head - how old I am now, how old I'll be when Joe starts high school, when he graduates from high school. When I do the math, I start to worry about how I'm going to be able to handle a high school freshman when I'm 59 years old. Will I be physically up to the task? Will Joe be able to relate to me and me to him? Will I be healthy enough to keep up with him? Will he be embarrassed to have his friends meet me because I'll be as old as some of their grandfathers? (that one hurts, actually). The nights when I do the math are the nights when I don't sleep well.
Man plans and God laughs, I suppose. I'm thankful beyond measure for my sons. They're healthy, intelligent, normal boys. J.P. and Joe are more than I could have asked for and they're more than I deserve.
Joe is walking. Damn.
Last weekend, though, Joe really turned the corner. It's like, almost overnight, a light bulb went off and all of a sudden he has balance when he walks. He holds his hands lower and doesn't reel from side to side. Occasionally, he leans backward and plops down on his butt when he loses his balance. For the most part, he walks wherever he wants to go. Amazingly, Joe can walk while carrying something in one of his hands.
As milestones go, of course, learning to walk is a giant one. It's a game changer for Jude, J.P. and me, as there's no limit to what Joe can get into now. One minute he's right beside me and, if I turn away for a second, he's off to the races. It's more than a little scary, actually. He tries to follow J.P. and, when he catches him, gives him a hug. That's pretty cool, except that when he hugs J.P., he usually loses his balance and falls.
In many ways, it's like watching a tightrope walker at the circus, as Joe walks across our hardwood floors, starting and stopping, and occasionally stumbling. I live in a constant state of fear that he's going to fall and hit his head on the floor. I'm happy he's walking and, yet, things were so much easier when he was crawling.
The larger issue for me, really, is that I'm not sure I'm ready for Joe to be walking. It's a recurring theme that runs throughout this blog, I know. It's probably a character flaw of some sort or a personality disorder at least, but I can't help it. My son is growing up and it makes me feel helpless, in a way, because there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop the passage of time. It seems worse, too, with Joe than it was with J.P., in the sense that time seems to be passing more quickly. Everything seems to happening faster.
I suspect it's because I'm so busy - with work, with J.P. and Joe, with family stuff - but Joe's first year seems to have passed so much more quickly than did J.P.'s. I'm older, too. Also, I've already been through these milestones with J.P., so maybe because it's not all brand new to me, time passes more quickly, from milestone to milestone.
I try to avoid it, but sometimes, especially late at night when I'm in bed trying to fall asleep, I start going the math in my head - how old I am now, how old I'll be when Joe starts high school, when he graduates from high school. When I do the math, I start to worry about how I'm going to be able to handle a high school freshman when I'm 59 years old. Will I be physically up to the task? Will Joe be able to relate to me and me to him? Will I be healthy enough to keep up with him? Will he be embarrassed to have his friends meet me because I'll be as old as some of their grandfathers? (that one hurts, actually). The nights when I do the math are the nights when I don't sleep well.
Man plans and God laughs, I suppose. I'm thankful beyond measure for my sons. They're healthy, intelligent, normal boys. J.P. and Joe are more than I could have asked for and they're more than I deserve.
Joe is walking. Damn.
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