Blast from the Past

I know it's been a very long time.  Don't give up on me, I've just been lazy.

Here is a cute blast from the past my sister-in-law sent me.  It was an old e-mail I had sent her in 2007.  Jay and I have laughed and reminisced reading this.  We can just hear our little bud saying this, using his hands and all animated...like his grandpa, the Quackdaddy.

FYI - Lyla, is our niece.  She and Lane are only ten days apart and have always been pretty close.  In 2007, Lane and Lyla would've been three-and-a-half and Madolyn would have been seven.

I had a bunch of pictures out last night and Lane was
going through them.   He pulled out a picture of he
and Lyla and he said, "She's so pretty."  I said "Is
that your girlfriend?"  "Yeah, she's pretty."    

Last week or so he was telling Madolyn that Lyla was
his girlfriend.  She was arguing with him saying she
could not be.  He said he would marry her.  He got
frustrated and with that shake and tilt of his head, he
says, "I gonna marry her on my tractor."  Madolyn says,
"You can't marry her on a tractor, you have to be in a
church.  He says "I'll drive my tractor to the church
and marry Lyla."  

I have read this a couple times.  As I said before, I can just hear and see him saying these things.  A while back, Lane found the video camera and we watched a bunch of home videos.  Sadly, we don't really take them anymore because we have the phones and iPad, etc.  Watching those videos makes you realize how fast time does pass...and how cute your ornery kids once were.

Wishing you and yours a very Merry Christmas.  Enjoy those little ones and even the older, sometimes grumpy ones :)

Wish I had known that guy...

Last week my dad's first cousin's husband had a massive stroke and died.  His name was Gary and he was a character.  I attended his funeral on Sunday and the whole time I sat there thinking, gosh, I missed out, I wish I had know that guy.

I knew Gary, as much as I could know someone I see once or twice a year.  Most of my memories of him are from long ago.  But every single memory I have of him is a good one.

Here is what I did know about Gary.  He was super funny, he was successful, he was family and he was a die-hard Illini fan.  Any time I was ever around Gary, he was laughing and carrying on and you could not help but get sucked in.  Gary was a successful insurance agent and owned his own agency. Gary was family...albeit a little distant to me, he always knew who I was and took the time to speak to me and act interested in me and my life.  You could not know Gary and not know that he was a completely obsessed and very dedicated Illini fan.  I remember their old van...because it was painted in Illini colors and something you just didn't forget.

When we were kids, he let us fair rats (cousins) run a lemonade stand outside the secretary's office. Looking back, it was probably to keep us out of the secretary office, but it was so much fun...and it did keep us occupied for a while.

So what do I mean when I say I wish I known him?  When I heard he had died, I immediately thought of his daughter, LeeAnn, who had passed away in a car accident in 2004 and I hoped they were having the biggest reunion ever at the gates of Heaven.  And then I wondered, was Gary a Christian? I had no idea.  It bothered me, until I read his obituary and learned he was a very active member in his local church.  Praise the Lord.

I then read some tributes and newspaper articles that had been written about his passing and the life he had led, and boy, did he do life BIG.  He was very, very active in not only his church but his community, his county, his country and his family.  He served in Vietnam, was on the county board of his large county and active in various community committees and clubs.  He was a super FUN guy who didn't know a stranger.  His daughter, Amy, talked a lot about him being the high school Sunday School teacher at their church and how important that was to him.  She also said that no matter how late Saturday night's tailgate at the Illini game went, they were at church on Sunday morning.

I was so enamored by all these wonderful things that I never knew about this guy that I really liked but didn't really know.

Just a few weeks ago I saw him at a cousin's wedding.  I was getting ready to leave and he called me over to his table...with that great big grin that he always wore.  We exchanged the usual pleasantries and then he told everyone at the table with him about what I had written and read at my grandma's funeral, how much he loved it, etc.  A few weeks after my grandma's funeral, he either Facebooked or emailed me and wanted to know if I had a copy of what I had read at the funeral.  I had recorded it ahead of time, but could not figure out how to send the recording so I emailed him the written version of it.  I'm not sure why, but he really got a kick out of that reading.  He told me the day of her funeral and again two years later.  He remembered that little thing about me.

I am sad for Gary's wife, daughter, and grandsons because I know they will miss him dearly.  From the way it sounds, his death is truly everyone's loss.  I missed out myself.

I sure wish I had known that guy better...

The transition

People have often said I say or do things just like my grandma did...but it's getting worse than that...much worse.  I'm afraid I'm starting to sound like the Quackdaddy.  Last night was another perfect example.

We went to Dairy Queen after Lane's ball game and were in the drive-up.  I was driving so I placed the order and all I wanted was a child-sized chocolate cone.  Very simple.  Nothing you have to mix or chop.  So easy...except they didn't have any chocolate ice cream.  I am not a fan of vanilla ice cream so when they are out of chocolate, I'm at a loss.  (Insert Jay laughing here because this happens all the time and he finds it funny.)

We pull around and she opens up the window.  I ask her why they do not have chocolate ice cream and tell her that the Marshall DQ has chocolate ice cream all the time and it's very good (as if that will change her mind about whether or not they have chocolate ice cream).  She looks at me like "what am I supposed to do?" and shuts the window...probably cussing me to her coworkers.  Apparently at this DQ, they clean the machine every Monday night.  I will have to remember that.

As soon as she shut the window, I looked at my family and said, "I sounded like the Quack just then, didn't I?" Uh-huh.

Because I could just hear him...The Quackdaddy has this thing about hot, fresh coffee.  If the waitress can't guarantee it's hot, fresh coffee, he doesn't want it.  He asks repeatedly if she knows whether it is hot and fresh. Everywhere he orders coffee, this is the spiel, and he keeps track of which places have hot, fresh coffee.

A month or so ago after we were at a softball game in a nearby town.  There was a very controversial call (in our favor) and the opposing coach was livid which earned him a seat in the dugout for the remainder of the game.  I couldn't for the life of me understand what had just happened and no one around us really seemed to know.

After the game we went to a cafe up the road for supper and that coach and his family and another family came in.  After we finished eating, I told my crew that I was going to go ask that coach what the deal was with that call.  They all but begged me not to and high-tailed it to the car when I headed over to his table.  I had a nice little chat with the coach and the rest of his table, got the low-down on the peculiar call and was sure to tell them that my family was hiding in the car embarrassed of me.

I can pretty much talk to a brick wall.  I don't see a problem in it as long as I'm not being rude or obnoxious (which almost never happens...I think).  I always feel the need to explain myself or offer more detail than necessary in certain situations, and I enjoy striking up conversations with complete strangers.

It's inevitable.  The transition is taking place.  I'm becoming the Quackdaddy...

Not photogenic

Those two words describe me most of the time.  Every now and then I will take a pretty good picture, but the majority are not too great.

This problem began back in grade school.   I kid you not, on picture day when the photographer would look to see who was next in line for their individual picture, and see me, she would literally cringe and mumble something about taking my picture.  She wasn't mean about it, she was stating truth.  (She was a family friend, so I didn't take offense to it.)  You could bet that I would either have my eyes closed or they would barely be open.  She took more of me than the others because she knew this.

Not a lot has changed.  About six weeks ago, Jay and I went to my cousin/friend's 40th birthday party in St. Louis.  Her sister and two of her brothers (also my cousins - ha) and their families were there and a few of her good friends.  We had a great weekend.  We stayed at the Lumiere Casino, ate a fabulous meal at a place called Carnine's, went to a dueling piano bar and played in the casino until about 1:30 a.m.  We had a blast.

Up until Jay and I left for St. Louis, I felt terrible.  I had had a horrible cold and really didn't feel like going, but I wanted to go so bad and so did Jay.  Off we went, and we are both so glad we did.

Growing up, Danielle (my cousin/friend) and her family lived just down the road from me so we spent a lot of time together.  She has three 'little' brothers.  One of the brothers I hadn't seen for a very long time (sadly, probably a family funeral a few years back).  It was so good to see him and his family.

Funny thing - after listening to him talk and carry on, making everyone laugh (he's a jokester - as is the whole family), I leaned over to our friend, Krista, and said, "Andrew hasn't changed a bit.  He is exactly the same as he always was."  (The only difference is that he goes by Drew now instead of Andrew, but he'll always be little Andrew to me.)

A while later, he and I were chatting and he said, "You know, I just told Krista that you had not changed at all, you're the same ole Sarah."  Ha!  How funny is that?!  

Anyway, we decided we should take some pictures, especially since we don't often all get together.  Sounds simple, huh?  (See the first and second paragraph of this post...)

We first tried to get a picture with our friend, Krista, and so it began.  Photo after photo of silliness. I could not keep it together.   We moved on to a cousin picture and that was a disaster.  We never did get a decent photo that included me.  Jay, Krista and the three siblings looked great in all of them, and I look like a crazy woman.  It was dark in this piano bar and I think I tried to over-compensate at times to keep my eyes open but not look deranged...it didn't work and then the giggling started...and the crying.

I went through all the Kleenex I had brought.  This giggling-til-you-cry scenario is a common occurrence with the Bennett clan.  And once I get started, I cannot stop...all they wanted was one decent photo, but I could not get it together.  (It could have been all the cold medicine I was taking.) The last photo was in the casino later on...I'm calm, but geesh, there I go trying to keep my eyes open.

No wonder Bev, the local photographer, would frown when she saw I was next in line...

Closed tight

Getting cracked up

Normal picture of me - eyes barely open

Couldn't stop laughing.

Need more tissues...

Around 1:00 a.m. but my eyes are open!

Lynch Breakfast Special

I get into ruts with breakfast.  I find something fast and somewhat healthy and filling and then I eat that for months, get tired of it and have to find something else.  And I have decided that maybe I needed to eat more at breakfast so I wouldn't be so hungry by 10:30.

If only I liked eggs...they are so good for you, have protein and are quick, cheap and easy.  I only like eggs in brownie, cookie or cake batter.  I have tried to like them, but it's just not in me to eat them and honestly I cannot stand the smell.  I truly wish I did.

So I have moved on to my latest breakfast combo - either a couple pieces of bacon or a container of Greek yogurt (for protein) and a bowl of Honeynut Cheerios with almond milk and sliced-up bananas.  It is quite filling and tasty.  I am changing it up here and there depending on whether I have bacon or yogurt in the fridge.

I have noticed that I am not as hungry mid-morning and can almost make it to lunchtime without a snack...almost.

The cool part - every morning as I slice up my banana, smell the Cheerios and pour the milk, I think of my grandparents, Scottie & Margaret.  They ate Cheerios with bananas a LOT - maybe not as much as jello with fruit, but almost.  I can picture us sitting in their kitchen up in Mazon having cereal.

Sometimes I think my kids will miss out just a little bit on having to travel to their grandparent's house because that made it even more special.  I know they reap many benefits from having both sets of grandparents here local, but it was sort of exciting to pack up and head north to Mazon to visit Grandma & Grandpa Lynch. I'm sure as I got older, I may have complained about it (who me?), but I know when I was younger, I loved it.

Isn't it great how the oddest things can cause a memory to surface?  Sometimes it's a certain scent, sometimes it's a song, but sometimes it's simply the Lynch breakfast special...

Stupid Tax

If you have ever listened to Dave Ramsey, you know that is where I get today's title.  Jay and I paid a little bit of stupid tax last week.  A stupid tax usually comes from someone in the Murphy family, if you know what I mean.

Last week Jay picked up the bud after school and headed to the gas station for fuel.  He wanted to get some diesel for the tractor so he could blade the driveway while the temps were up.  He also went ahead and topped off the tank in his truck.

They came home, he filled the tractor up and away he went to shove snow.  Not long into his blading, the tractor simply shut off.  Died.  Wouldn't start for nothing.  He looked it over a few minutes and decided to get his truck to pull it out of the middle of the driveway and take it over to the barn.

He got in his truck, turned the key and nothing.  Hmm.  He sat there a minute and was starting to fume at the notion he had received 'bad' fuel from the gas station...then he noticed the odor from his gloves and looked down at his receipt.

$2.19/gal

Diesel costs more than $2.19/gal.  Jay had inadvertently put gasoline into his truck and the tractor diesel can.  That is not good.

I am just about home when my phone rings, it's Jay.  "You will not believe what I just did."

Let me stop for a moment and say this, if you have followed this blog any at all or know my husband, the above statement could pertain to just about anything under the sun.  My first thought was he got another dog.  (I would've strangled him, seriously.)

"Just tell me."  (It's best to just get it over with.)  "I put gas in my truck and the tractor."  Oh Snap!  "The tractor died in the driveway."  "Can I get around it?"  "Yes."  I continue on to our driveway.

I look at the narrow passage and decide to go for it...and should not have.  I was quickly 'stuck' sort of.  Enough that I knew better, so I stopped the car, turned it off, gathered my stuff and walked to the house.  There are certain times in life where it's best to just walk away...

After talking to his diesel mechanic and working out the details of getting the truck picked up, he quickly wiggled my car out of the snow.  He and Lane used the winch on the four-wheeler to pull the tractor over to the barn, and the Quackdaddy came over with his truck to move Jay's truck in a position that could be easily reached by the flat bed coming our way.

About the only thing I could think to say was "I'm glad it was me or the kids."  And ladies, you know exactly what I mean.  I really wanted to shout "Thank you, JESUS, it wasn't me or the kids!"

Fortunately, there was no serious harm.  The truck hadn't broken down along the road.  No accident or injury came about and everyone was safe.  As 'luck' would have it, Jay didn't seriously damage his fuel system.  It was drained and after a change of fuel filters and some REAL diesel, it was running fine.

Funny thing, the mechanic did discover a potential problem in the 4WD mechanism that was about to break.  Had that happened, it would have been a much more serious repair.  And maybe that would have resulted in an accident or injury...

Yes, we paid a stupid tax, but I'm thinking maybe God intervened just a little.

The child I have

Parent the child you have, not the child you were.  I read that somewhere last year.  It is heavy on my thoughts today.

Our son does not seem to care much, at this point, for sports.  And, oh, it is killing me.  I don't care if he is a super star or not, I just thoroughly love sports and what's better is when you are able to watch your own kids play them.

The boy does love to run.  He won't run with his dad (yet), but he loves to run in races with his peers and pushes himself hard to beat everyone.  He seems fast, but I'm not a good judge in that department (I think a fast walk is good enough).  We are hoping he will maybe take an interest in track when it is available for him.

For some reason it makes me feel like a failure as a parent.  I know it is not.  That is just my pride talking...but then I have that little voice that says somehow I/we have not instilled in him the desire for sports.

Lane is competitive though.  He can't stand to lose when we play games and enjoys winning games with his friends at church and school.  He doesn't really want to be the center of attention.  He would rather stay in the background.  One time a couple years ago when he was in a little basketball league, at one of the games he passed the basketball like it was a hot potato.  I mentioned it later, "Boy, you sure got rid of that ball fast."  His response, "Well, I don't want the ball."  Hmm, in basketball that is kind of the point...

I know he has the desire to win, but what I have to accept is that it may not be at basketball or football - something I want him to do.

When I step back and take a deep breath, I realize it is not really the end of the world.  He enjoys many things like hunting, farming, riding his fourwheeler, working with wood.  It's not like he is lazy or glued to a video game.  When I look over that list, I realize that those are things he can take with him into adulthood just like the skills and lessons you learn from participating in athletics.

It just doesn't seem as fun for me.

I suppose the cheerleader in me is afraid of missing out.  I take pictures and get excited when he has a successful hunt and love hearing him retell the story or show off his 'trophies.'  I guess I could stand in the yard and cheer him on as he zooms by on his fourwheeler...

I certainly do not want him to think I am disappointed in him.  I am not.  My problem is with how I feel I am missing something.  This problem is ME.

This week I attended my first scholastic bowl meet.  Madolyn is on the JV team and it was at home so I went.   It was very interesting.  The best part - they won.  They hadn't won yet so it was exciting...as exciting as a scholastic bowl meet is.  I sat in the back with another parent and there were a few times I could hardly keep from clapping (Madolyn answered 3 questions right).  When it was over, I congratulated the team just like I would if they had won a big game.

Regardless of what my kids are doing, I will support them and I will cheer for them - it just may be from my living room or sitting quietly in the back of a classroom with my hands clinched so as not to clap wildly out loud.

I remember going through this just a little bit with Madolyn and it has gotten better....mostly, after I realized she wasn't going to be a cheerleader like I had been.  I am slightly hopeful that in the future Lane will develop a desire to play more sports, but if he doesn't, I need to accept that and applaud him for whatever HE enjoys doing.  More importantly, I need to accept the child I have.  He is a great kid.

Observations from the sideline

Over the course of the ten hours I was waiting on Jay to finish his run, I made a few observations about these people I call 'the crazies' and this race.

First off, other than that initial feeling of discrimination so-to-speak at the packet pick-up, I never once felt like the runners were judgmental or comparing one another.  I asked Jay about that and he agreed.  He said he never noticed someone acting like they were a better runner than someone else.

At around the 30-mile mark, Jay found a running buddy, an older fella named Keith who was from northern Illinois.  They ran the last 20 miles pretty much side-by-side, which was great for Jay when it got dark.  He said that having Keith with him made such a huge difference.  He really didn't know if he could have gotten through the last 20 without him.  Keith had intended to run the 100 miler, but opted to stop at the 50 finish. He, too, thought that Jay had been a great encouragement to him and was glad to be able to run with him.

Jay mentioned this one gal he passed toward the end of his race and she was going the other direction.  He said she was running alone and had that look of defeat, like she was about to break.  "I could tell she just needed someone to run with her and encourage her." He so wanted to turn around and run with her a couple miles, but he was just trying to finish and battling his own exhaustion. Plus, he was running with Keith, and they also seemed to need each other.

I'm sure there were other stories like that from the race.  I heard lots of encouragement and cheering from everyone around.  No one was pushing or shoving or being rude at the check stations.  You didn't see looks of disgust from other runners if someone was in their way.  You saw a bit of exhaustion, lots of determination and encouragement.

The family and friends who were waiting at the check points were friendly and considerate.  Again, I didn't see any nastiness from them either.  The volunteers did great and the race coordinator, or whatever he is called, did a wonderful job putting together this event.  I assumed it was something that had been put on for a few years because of how smooth and professional everything was...nope, this was the first year for it.  Even the various businesses around the town of Vienna had words of welcome on their signs.

I found myself feeling guilty when I would need to go use the restroom at these aid stations.  I would try to wait until there weren't many runners passing through, but that didn't happen.  I would let someone in front of me, then another and then decide, okay, I cannot wait...and would try to hurry.  I never considered how everyone would be at a different pace and constantly running by.

There were about 150-175 runners registered for each race.  (That is a bunch of crazies.)  The winner of the 100 miler was a female from Indiana.  In August she set a world record for most miles run indoors by a female in 48 hours...242 miles. She ran this 100 miles in 14 hours and 45 minutes. Amazing, right?  Well, she now holds the American record for fastest time EVER run by a female in a 100 mile trail run.  She beat the old record by 13 minutes!

There were 27 states represented, along with Great Britain, Japan and Canada.  (I guess there are crazies all over the world.)  The oldest runners I saw on the registration sheet were two men, 73 and 77...and they were signed up for the 100 miler.  Can you imagine?

All in all my observations from the sideline were positive.  I really had a sense of respect for every single participant out there, regardless of whether they were running 100 miles or 'just' 50.  I can run to the bathroom and maybe to a buffet line, but that's where I draw the line.  These folks have a serious passion for running and overall health.  I'm glad that Jay is doing enough for both of us...I think I'll just keep observing from the sideline.

All kinds of CRAZY!

Continuing the running post...When we walked in to retrieve his registration packet, it was sort of like sign-up at a 5 or 10K.  When they ask if you're here for the 10K, you reply the 5K and they look at you like you're a wimp.  Jay felt the same way here.  "Are you here for the 100 miler?"  "No, the 50."  "Oh, well, YOUR stuff is over THERE."  Uh-huh, because running 50 miles is soooo pathetic.  Oh well, we were not discouraged.  Jay was going to be running 50 miles!

When we arrived at the start/finish line on Saturday morning, we were quite shocked to see that some runners had tent-camped.  It was 18 degrees at 7:15 am.  I cannot imagine how cold it was during the night.  This observation supported my initial theory that these people are all crazy.

Jay got dressed and took a stroll, I waited in the warm car until start time.  No need for me to get cold, right?  When it was time to begin, I got Jay's cell phone ready and clicked a couple pictures of #364 amongst the rest of the crazies.

I had brought along knitting projects and a case of water.  I was set.  My job as Jay's 'crew' was to meet him at the checkpoints and have his stuff ready: shoes, endurance drink packet mixed with water, salt tablets, snack, ibuprofen, etc.  Jay asked his parents to come down, so they assisted me in my duties. Ha.  (Can you tell I'm trying to make myself sound important to make up for my total lack of desire to do something like this?)

I raced down to the 11-mile checkpoint and squeezed into a good spot up close.  Jay would pass through this one twice, and then I would return to the Start/Finish line for the halfway point.  I thought Jay looked pretty good after 10.9 miles, but he was done with the hat for a while.  It was 'too hot.'  

10.9 miles in.

I was glad when Jay picked this bright yellow/green to wear because I just knew he would be easy to spot amongst the crazies.  Fact is, a lot of crazies wear this color...and are bald...and wearing black running tights...But he always found us.

Jay's parents arrived in time for him to come back through this checkpoint.  He sat down, ate a snack and headed back towards the Start/Finish line.  I should have explained that the Tunnel Hill Trail is an old railroad bed they transformed into a really, really nice and beautiful trail for runners and bikers. It is absolutely gorgeous.  There are several bridges along the path and some huge rock walls (at least that's what I would call them) and then the super cool tunnel.  In the day, they didn't want to build a train track over a very large hill/mountain, so they tunneled through it.  Hence the name of the trail :)

That is a picture of the tunnel along the trail.

At the halfway point, I could tell that Forrest was struggling a bit.  I also knew enough about him that if he sat too long, he might not be able to get up.  He sat long enough to change shoes, eat a snack, and get a refill of his water bottle.  Off he went.   And more prayers I sent.

26.2 miles in - that marathon he was not interested in running.

I met him at an in-between checkpoint to see if the change in shoes helped and he gave me the 'thumbs up' signal and away we went.  Next stop was the Tunnel Hill.

40 miles down, 10 to go.  Hat back on.

It was at this point, 40 miles down, that I knew he would finish.  I told his parents that sheer determination would carry him the remaining 10 miles.  It was also at this point, his dad suggested he take his headlamp and he refused.  By 5:00, it was completely dark and I was debating on whether I should try to meet him at a small aid station and hand over the headlamp, but decided it was sort of his fault he didn't take it...so he would just have to finish in the dark or find a running buddy.

Jay's parents and I got out of the car at about the 9 hour 30 minute mark.  Jay's goal had been to run the 50 miles in 10 hours, but no more than 12.  We had no idea where he would fall in that window, but decided to be safe and get out in the cold and wait at the finish line.  Because it was completely dark, it was very hard to tell if that next runner was Jay because he did not have a light.  It started sleeting/snowing, which was just fantastic for the spectators...and the runners, of course.

At 9 hours and 58 minutes, we were worried he was running out of time.  You just never know what has happened in the last 10 miles, if the darkness was a problem, if his knees finally gave out, etc. And then I saw that runner with the distinguishable swinging of the arms.  That is how I could pick him out of the crowd of crazies.  His actual finish time was 10:03:01. I wanted to take a picture of him crossing the finish line, so the picture I took of the clock was a little late.

Just crossing the finish line.

I'm 10 seconds off.

I was so proud of Jay.  He did what he set out to do, which is so like him.  He is determined.  He was only over his time by about three minutes, which he probably could have squeezed out at the end, but hey, when you're running ten hours, what is another three minutes?!  He finished in a vertical position and we didn't have to visit the emergency room, which is seriously what I was afraid of.  It was a victory.

#364 with his medal.

As soon as we were on our way back to the car, he says to me, "You know what this means, don't ya? I've got to do the 100 miler next."  (I suggested he pick a spring or early fall run for that one.)  I really don't get it. I guess it's like an addiction or something, I don't know.  But let me tell you, these runners are all kinds of crazy.

My Very Own Forrest Gump

A few years ago, my BFF started running.  He started out like most, running area 5K's but kept rolling his right ankle.  Although many years had passed since high school, Jay's ankles had not recovered from the torment they suffered in football, basketball and baseball.  He went and had complete ankle reconstruction on his right ankle, and as soon as possible, jumped right back into running.

And like Forrest, he just kept running.

Mville Ag Fair 5k 2012

Sometime in the last 12-18 months I recall him telling me, "Sarah, I have no desire to run a marathon."  Fine by me.  (That makes two of us!)

Fast forward to this past Spring.  He tells me he is signing up for this Tunnel Hill Trial 50/100 Mile Run in November.  WHAT?!  (Did you forget the whole I-have-no-desire-to-run-a-marathon statement?)  Last time I checked a marathon was 26.2 miles.  This was double that! He thought it would be great because the Tunnel Hill trail is in our favorite corner of the world (Southern Illinois), it was so close geographically-speaking, and he had plenty of time to train. In June, we headed down there to check the trail out.  It was beautiful, of course, at least the 6.5 miles the kids and I rode our bikes on while Jay ran.

He decided sometime mid-summer he would run a 30-mile trail run in October to help prepare for the 50-mile.

Every chance he had, he was running.  He would take the truck or car to be serviced in Casey and he would run home.  He would run into a ball game or home from one.  He often ran to church on Wednesday nights.  On the weekends, he would have his big runs and if possible, I would go with him on the bike.  We did a few long runs/rides at our local state park together.  And sometimes he would go out to the Lake north of town and run on their bike trails.  He trained pretty hard most of the summer.

Then his silly left foot/ankle/heel started becoming a problem.  He tried various methods to ease the pain and stress, went to the foot doctor, let off on the running a bit and finally decided nothing was going to work, he would just have to run through the pain.  Makes perfect sense, doesn't it?

He completed the 30-mile trail run in about six hours.  It was treacherous, up and down hills, muddy, cold and rained a couple times.  I did a lot of praying during those six hours that he would finish in one piece.  He finished, we got in the car, drove straight home, showered, packed and headed to St. Louis for a wedding reception.  All the while, I think his body was in shock.

His knee, which he had never had problems with, suffered the most after that trail run, although his foot and heel were still causing him pain.  He pretty much laid off the training during the four weeks between the 30-mile and the 50-mile runs.  He knew that would hurt him on one hand, but on the other, his body needed some rest.

Last Wednesday, we were talking about the heel and I decided to research what the essential oils could do for his plantar fasciitis.  I had put a couple oils on his heel a few times, but he didn't seem to notice much relief.  I tried again and he was amazed.  I showed him the oil combo and told him to oil up every few hours until his big day.  (It was only three days, but hey...)

Last Friday mid-afternoon we headed south to Vienna, Illinois to pick up his registration packet and settle into our hotel.

Stay tuned for the rest of the story...

Hand Signals - the Kannmacher way

Last weekend at a volleyball tournament in Fairfield, I looked up at the score table and noticed the score keeper was a girl that attends our church camps and youth things through our denomination.  I wondered if Madolyn had noticed, so from across the gym I got her attention and signaled to her (clearly) to look at the score table.

My darling 14-year-old daughter was unable to interpret my hand signals, but not before making comments to her friends, I'm sure, that I was a complete idiot.

Later on, she asked me what I was trying to tell her and I told her.  She rolled her eyes and said there was no way that the signals I was giving would have indicated the same to her.  She then relayed the story to her dad, who laughed and said, "Madolyn, if you had known your grandpa great, you would understand."

Oh my goodness, that made me laugh.  My grandpa only had half of his larynx due to his first bout with cancer back in the early 70s.  His loudest voice was a whisper no matter what, and he even carried a whistle with him just in case he needed help and couldn't yell.

To make up for his inability to scream or shout out orders, he used all kinds of hand signals (at least that's my guess) and they were often very confusing.  Today, they might even be considered some form of interpretive dance.

Every now and then, my brother will start throwing his hands this way and that way and laugh...he's mimicking our grandpa...and quite possibly the Quackdaddy who learned from the best.

It's funny how little things like a hand signal bring back memories of a man my kids will never know. It is kind of comforting that some traits and quirks live on in others and that we are able to pass on these stories from one generation to the next.  Important ones, such as, how to do hand signals - the Kannmacher way.

Thankfully, no one in this clan has been called to work on an air traffic control ground crew...

'Camping' with my girls

There are a few of us girls who hung out in high school that try to get together every now and then (as in every four years or so) and do something sort of special.  Our tradition started out with a meal out the Saturday after Thanksgiving.  We've had big groups and little groups.  It's always something to look forward and we have a great time.  In fact, that will be upon us shortly.  There is nothing better than eating and laughing with friends and family, is there?!

This past Saturday three of my girlfriends got together for a night of camping.  When this idea was proposed several weeks ago, the response I received was humorous.  Camping?  Uh, no.  In a tent?!  Uh, no way.  I explained to them that we had just purchased a pretty modern camper and they would survive.  At my dad's surprise party, I got the approval from 'Susan' and 'Danielle' after a tour of the camper.  They were all about it...especially Danielle.  'Brandi' would just have to trust us on this one.

The day came, and of course, life got in the way a little.  (This is what happens when you don't go far enough away from home.)  For a couple hours, I ended up at my son's playoff football game in Palestine and Danielle headed to Casey for her nephew's game.  Susan and Brandi were left behind in the camper to catch up.

I had warned the girls that I was hoping to be at a playoff game for Lane's football team, but I didn't realize it was also the conference tournament championship game for volleyball.  It didn't matter though because Jay was working nights.  Lane is 10 years old and in a contact sport.  Madolyn is a freshman dressing varsity, and as long as there isn't a major catastrophe, she shouldn't actually play in the Varsity game.  Of course, this made Lane and I laugh...(Madolyn is a walking catastrophe).  So there was no question that I would skip the volleyball game and go to the football game.  (I do believe that is the first volleyball game I have ever missed since Madolyn started playing - eck.)  I'm sure it won't be the last!

We didn't plan much of a menu and were going to keep things pretty simple.  But great minds think alike...I was baking a batch of Grandma Great brownies in the camper oven when Danielle showed up holding a plate of her delicious cupcakes with homemade icing (they were so yummy), then Brandi waltzed in with a package of Pilsbury Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough (oh, just like old times). And later on that night, Deputy Deb (Brandi's sister) brought us some homemade chocolate & peanut butter chip cookies that Brandi's mom had made us.  I had forgotten what a good cook Dorothy was.   They were soft and mouth-watering.  We had the sweets covered.

It was funny, right before I left to go to the game, I asked the girls if they wanted me to start a fire in the fire pit.  They laughed, "Uh, no, we aren't going outside.  We're going to sit right here."  That cracked me up.  But I had the furnace on, there were warm brownies, cupcakes, hot cheesy salsa dip, and a working bathroom.  Why would you go outside?!

The football team lost (boo) but on the way home, I learned that the volleyball girls had WON.  I was so excited, I almost (almost) teared up.  I was sooo happy for them!  Now I could quit stewing about it and get back to my girls!  I arrive at the camper and am filling Susan and Brandi in on the games, when I get a text from a mom that says the fire trucks are escorting the girls' bus through town.  I looked up at Susan and Brandi and without hesitation said, "I have to go!"

They wanted to go to Pizza Hut and Danielle was going to be heading back from her game soon, so the plan was for me to drop Susan and Brandi off at Pizza Hut, go to Martinsville and return.  Danielle would head over to Marshall from Casey and go straight to the restaurant.  Only, I started to panic that I was going to miss the bus and the escort, so what do we do?  We all went to Martinsville.

And just like old times, we got in line and escorted the Streaks through town behind the fire trucks with horns blaring and hazard lights flashing.  It was great.  Honestly, I was glad they came along so I wasn't by myself, and Danielle's car added one more to the fan caravan!  We talked and laughed reminiscing about our glory days, when we were the ones going through town with the fire trucks and the sirens.

We made it to Pizza Hut and sat there for almost two hours, talking away, and returned to the warm, cozy camper for more chit-chat.  It was a good time, even though it was heavily interrupted.  I wouldn't exactly call it a camping trip either.  I told them that theoretically, we could have done exactly what we did with my camper sitting in my driveway plugged in.  Ha.  Danielle got numerous texts and phone calls from family members asking her if she really was camping.  They seemed to be in disbelief.  I wonder if they realize we weren't really roughing it...ssh, maybe that is a secret.

Soon Brandi will be back home, and hopefully, we can have more nights like this one with our fellas and kids.  I think I've made 'campers' out of at least two of these gals, and we're trying to convince Brandi to live in mine temporarily.  I'm not sure that's going to fly though. She might have been the least impressed with it all.  That's okay, she brought the cookie dough and her mom sent cookies. (By the way, B, I ate that cookie dough the next day:)

Oh, and the exciting news, Danielle and I are planning to rent an RV and travel across the USA some day.  Now, doesn't that sound like fun?

Lucky girl

'Tis the season of Football games and Tp'ing.  They go hand-in-hand, almost.  Saturday night we were at Lane's playoff football game.  Madolyn was in the grandstands with her friends.  She bought some M&M's and took out her bottom retainer to eat them.  Put it in her hoodie pocket.  And then...

Let me digress a moment.  Madolyn had retainers in grade school, braces for 18 months (just got them off in August) and is back to wearing the retainers.  The bottom ones all the times, the upper only at night.  For now.  We have been all over her about wearing these retainers because her teeth are beautiful...and it wasn't cheap.  We don't want them moving back into their prior position.

Now, back to the story...  After the game, Jay had promised Mad he would take her and some friends out tp'ing after the game.  They dropped me off at home and away they went. 

I was sound asleep when the tribe arrived home, but of course, that didn't last ten seconds.  Mad came in and told me all about their adventures, and, uh, that she could not find her bottom retainer.  Snap.  I was as alarmed as I could be in my stupor, told her to check her pockets, look in the car, etc.  She had told me she remembered taking them out when she went to eat the M&M's at the game.  I told her we should look in the bleachers, where she was sitting and then went back to sleep.

Sunday morning came, she was still stewing about the missing retainer.  Jay and I told her she would be footing the bill on this one.  She agreed that was fair.  We went to church and then later ate lunch at Jay's parents.

As soon as we were done eating, she asked if I would take her up to the school to search the bleachers.  Off we went.  As we got out of the car, I whispered the prayer, "God, if we're meant to find them, let us find them." And honestly, I was still pretty skeptical.  They had left the game and been all over creation.  That tiny clear plastic piece with a wire could be almost anywhere between the bleachers and Neadmore corner.

We forged ahead.  Mad took to the top of the bleachers where she was sitting with her friends and I started at the bottom of the steps.  She quickly announced it was no use, to which I replied, "You give up way too easy. Keep looking." 

All of a sudden, she says in the most matter of fact, calm voice (much like the "big mouse in your bedroom" comment from two weeks ago), "I found it."  

Lo' and behold, there it was.  She was so relieved.  Her first words were, "Why am I so lucky?"  I said, "Did you pray about it?"  "Yeah, I did, last night."  "Well, so did I as soon as we got out of the car."  

She told me later it wasn't even about having to pay for this one, she was scared her teeth would shift while waiting for a new one to be made.  I am glad she was concerned.  Hopefully, she'll be a little more careful with it from now on.

I don't chalk this one up to luck.  The power of prayer is awesome.  I'm so thankful our god hears even the smallest of cries.  

The Quackdaddy is 70!

Twenty years ago, I thought seventy was old.  Now, I'm thinking it doesn't seem so bad.  Today, The Quackdaddy is turning 70 years.

Yesterday we surprised him with a birthday party.  Mom came up with the idea and had been planning it for weeks.  Our rouse was a family photo session, and because it would've been pretty tricky to prepare for a party at his house, the party was thrown at our house.  We live back off the road and unless the Quack is checking cows (which does happen daily), he wouldn't notice the party prep going on.  (It's always good to have an excuse to get things done around the place, you know.)

It has been so funny trying to sneak around to make the preparations for this party.  Last week, after a morning of dove hunting, the Quack was dropping Jay off at our house when my brother pulls up with his gas grill.  He unloads it and tells Jay that I said Jay could fix it.  Jay is perplexed.  He looks the grill over and says he'll see what he can do...dad walks to his truck and my brother says, "That's all I could think of!" Ah-ha, it took a while, but Jay finally caught on.

Saturday mom bought some supplies at Walmart while we were at a volleyball tournament because dad had to do something else and couldn't go.  On her way home, she was going to drop the stuff off at our house.  Jay & I were just pulling out of our driveway to go to Lane's football game when dad pulled up on the mule (no, not the four-legged type) and asked where mom was, she wasn't answering her phone.  I assured him that she was on her way home from the tournament, she had stayed a little longer than I did.

I roll the window up and tell Jay that I hope he turns around and goes home (and not back to our house like normal) because mom is on her way with the supplies.  Thankfully, dad did turn around to go home.  We turn the opposite direction of my parent's house and meet my mom, who had driven the long way around to avoid driving past her house on her way to my house.  She stayed down in the dip in the road at the neighbor's until she could see dad pull into their driveway and then proceeded to our house to unload.

We met at the pond over on the family farm for pictures at 3:30.  Our guests were to arrive at our house by 4:30 and we hoped to be there by 5.  I guess no one had communicated to my brother the timeline and it was hilarious that he kept making comments like, well, I have an appointment with my couch soon, I think that's enough pictures, etc.  All the while mom and I are saying, oh, we should probably go somewhere else and get some different pictures.   My dad then starts rushing everything because he thinks Mark really needs to be somewhere.  Finally, I whisper to Mark the timing situation.  It was so funny because suddenly he was wanting more pictures.  Our photographer knew what was up so she went with it.

Mom made signs and had them up and down the driveway greeting our guests and the birthday boy.   Mom said dad noticed the first one, flew past the second one too quick to read and by the time he reached the third one, he was picking up on something.  He said he thought it was a church party until he saw "Phil's" truck.  Somehow he had no idea.  We pulled off a big surprise.

The Quack parked way down at the end of the line of cars parked along the driveway so this was the best picture my friend could capture.  I'm hoping our photographer grabbed a couple too.  (I'm so bummed I didn't walk around and take pictures during the party!)

Lucky for our guests, we were pig-free as of last Tuesday, and no stinky odors were looming.   And as of Saturday mid-afternoon we were bee-free, thanks in part to Jay being stung 18 times and torching a couple nests.  (Thankfully, he is not allergic to them.)  Jay set up the camper television for the football junkies and everyone positioned their chairs around that.  Heaven forbid, we sacrifice Sunday NFL.  We had a new fire ring to try out and it proved to be functioning.  By sunset, the fire felt pretty good.

There were 55 people there (if my calculation is accurate) and the weather was perfect.  A big thanks to my aunt, uncle and the Spank for grilling and getting everything set up and ready while we were taking pictures.

I think a good time was had by all.  And hopefully we got one decent family photo out of it :)

Our piano player

Last night Madolyn had her very first piano recital.  Last October, she began taking piano lessons with our local piano expert, Diane...who is celebrating her 50th year of teaching!

Diane assisting with page turning.

Before we went into the church, Madolyn gave me a quick lesson on how to video with her I-phone.  I don't have an I-phone and am technologically challenged at times, but this looked simple enough.  "Mom, it is so simple."  Yes.  Of course, it is.  It is Mad's turn and Jay nudges me to get her phone.  I grab it and we decide Jay has a clearer view, and then we try to figure out what to do...

Of course, we couldn't...and we're giggling as quietly as possible all the while our daughter is playing her piece.  We finally get it going, just missing the first page of her song.  Good grief.  It is so simple, she says.

As I sat there, I couldn't help but get that knot in my throat and those dang tears in my eyes...Grandma Great would have been so proud.

Madolyn has wanted to take piano lessons for a couple years, but we didn't have a piano.  I knew eventually I would receive Grandma Great's piano, but until then, we would just wait.  She took guitar lessons and then lost interest so I was okay with waiting a while.  We got the piano a year or so before Grandma passed away because her basement kept having water problems and we were all afraid it would damage the piano.

We bought some beginner books for the piano and some stickers to put on the keys to help in the learning process (which I'm sure is a big no-no) and Madolyn monkeyed around on it a little bit, but we didn't quite see the interest yet...so we waited some more.

Last fall about a month before Grandma got really bad she asked me, completely out of the blue, if Madolyn was taking piano lessons yet.  I said no, and she seemed disappointed.  It wasn't a week later that Madolyn asked if she could start with the piano lessons, also completely out of the blue.  We decided that maybe it was time to give it a try.

She began in October and has hardly missed a week of lessons.  She practices consistently and without us having to force her, which is huge in my mind.  When I took lessons long ago, I had to be forced to practice, or at least that is how I remember it.  I was probably in the 3rd or 4th grade and I did not commit to it at all.  I'm so bummed now that I didn't take it seriously back then.  Of course, I have big plans to some day take lessons again.

Way back when, Grandma Great could only play her piano when Grandpa was outside.  For some reason, he hated hearing the piano.  I just can't imagine that, especially from someone who was musically inclined like he was.  Maybe he just didn't like her choice of music, I don't know.  She was someone who played a pretty strong piano.  By that I mean, she struck those keys hard.  As I'm writing this, I keep wanting to use the term "pounding" on the piano and it is making me laugh...because she would always tell us kids not to pound on the piano.  In my mind, she pounded on the piano!

The piano is in the basement at our house and we have no door.  So you can't help but hear Mad when she's practicing.  But I LOVE it.  Jay doesn't mind too much...although over the past few months, this recital piece has certainly been played to death.  It will be nice when different songs are coming over the airwaves :)  Oh, and we can add Frozen's theme to that too...we've heard it plenty also!  The only time I have to tell her to knock it off is if Lane is in bed.

Of course, I'm bias, but I really am amazed at how well Madolyn has progressed with her playing and how committed she seems to it.  The recital started with some younger kids and kind of moved on to students who were a little more advanced.  A couple girls after Madolyn were very good.  And the finale was a piece played by a young lady from Casey I have had the pleasure of knowing from church camp.  It was absolutely beautiful and unbelievable all at the same time.  I took one look at the pages on her right and couldn't understand how someone could read it or follow it!  She obviously has played for a while and it was a good motivator for Mad.

For Madolyn's birthday she has requested piano books of Disney songs.  I thought that was a pretty good idea, and since she will be turning 14 in a few weeks, I better start looking.  Won't Jay love this?  :)

My untrained eye

Oh my, we're over halfway through Summer 2014 and it is chilly outside.  The high temps this week have barely reached into the 70's.  I have been wearing long-sleeves and jackets.  Crazy.  You just never know what it is in store around here.

We began the summer with a Memorial Day weekend camp-out at our local state park.  We had a great time, the weather was perfect (Christmas miracle) and the campground was packed.  It was nice to see it being utilized.  Memorial Day night, Jay was working, I was in bed and our night-owl of a daughter slipped getting out of the shower and fell hard on her left wrist.  All I know about that night is my daughter crawled in bed with me about midnight, told me she had fallen, I asked her if she was okay, she said she hurt her wrist, I went to sleep and spent the night pushing her legs onto her side of the bed.

The next morning, I saw her wrist and could not believe my eyes.  It was swollen and horrible looking, red and puffy.  I told her I hadn't realized she had really hurt it, like that bad.  She said she had called her dad (at work) and then woke her brother up twice (no help there) and crawled in bed with me.  Somewhere along the line I have scared her into never waking me up, I guess.  Why, oh why would you not come get ME if you were really hurting.  I suppose I just should've known.  Hmm.

So it's finals week at school and there is no way she can miss.  I send her with some Advil and told her I would talk to the PE teacher about PE and make her a doctor appointment for late that afternoon.  Her PE teacher made her run anyway (which I really do not understand) and she had a miserable day.  By 3:00 when I picked her up for the appointment, her wrist looked worse...if that was even possible.

We had to see a different doctor and within 20 seconds, she said, oh, we might as well send you straight to x-ray.  Twenty minutes later, she returns and said as shocked as she was, nothing was broken.  Take some Advil.  See you later.  I was speechless.  But they have the medical degree, right?

Two days later, I call the doctor's office again and ask to speak to our regular doctor.  The wrist is not better, it's the same or worse.  It looks horrific.  I had bought her a brace at Walmart and was trying to get her to wear it, but she kept complaining that it hurt too much.  Doctor says, bring her in.  She goes back, doc says, yeah, it looks bad, the x-ray was clear, here is a brace to wear.  Check back in a week if it's not better. We did discover we had been putting the brace I bought on backwards...thereby the rod was pushing her wrist down...which was causing pain.  Oops.

A week later, I insist she see us again.  They take another set of x-rays, which once again show nothing is broken.  I'm kind of at that point where this mama is going to take somebody out if someone doesn't do something about this swollen, completely purple wrist.  Apparently I got that point across because they referred us to an orthopedic doctor...and of course, that put us out another two weeks.

Four weeks after falling, the orthopedic doctor sees her wrist and comments that obviously something isn't right.  He orders x-rays (they again show nothing is broken), and an MRI just in case; regardless, he will put her in a cast so it can heal.  MRI shows fluid at the growth plate, whatever that means.  Five weeks to the day she fell, Madolyn got a hot pink cast to wear for two weeks.  It is off and she is now taking therapy for a couple weeks.

Although I am very thankful it wasn't more serious, I was very frustrated during this process.  I respect medical providers and their education and knowledge, but I was dumbfounded with the idea that an untrained eye (aka Mom) could tell at 24 hours post-fall there was something wrong with this wrist and got nowhere.  Why it took three different doctors, three sets of x-ray, an MRI and five long weeks for my daughter to get a cast is beyond me.

Next time, things will go a bit differently.  I will remind them of this fiasco and demand a cast.  Yes, I will be THAT mother.  And our accident-prone daughter has added yet another injury to her very long list...

tHe pLaNk

Well, we are 25 days into the 30-day Ab Challenge.  And when I say, "we" I do mean Jay and I.  Our partners have jumped ship.  Madolyn fell and hurt her wrist (she really did) and seems to have used that injury over a week ago to just stop altogether.  Lane missed a few days and feels like he can't just pick up where he left off, for some reason.

Jay and I are in it to win it.  We are going to finish this thing.  No. Matter. What.  There have been a couple times when I thought the no-matter-what could lead me to the emergency room with some pulled or strained or torn or shredded abdominal/groin muscles, but wouldn't you know, I'm still plugging along.

The dreaded plank is certainly not easy, but it really hasn't been quite as bad as I had envisioned.  Every day the time is increased by about five seconds.  It is totally blowing my mind that I am up to a 90-second plank. That is one minute and thirty seconds.  Of Sarah holding herself up.  Really.

I've found a few tricks along the way to get me through it...I set my timer and try very hard not to look at it. I'm always super disappointed when it's not nearly as far along as I feel like it ought to be.  I also have been quoting scriptures for strength.  You know that old wives tale scripture text telling us to use scripture in times of need?  Hey, it actually works!  That Bible is full of lots of good stuff.

After a few rough nights of doing the plank at the end of my other exercises, it dawned on me that I should do it completely separate and not after my muscles are already angry and upset with me.  The other night Jay and I were doing the plank alongside one another.  Lane was coaching from the couch.  (He is sooo good at that).  I put my head down and started in reciting my scripture, the Lord's Prayer, 23rd Psalm and anything else that I could think of.  Near the end (I think we were at 55 seconds then) I was struggling a bit and spewed out "surely goodness and mercy and all of that other stuff..."

Well, that got Jay and Lane giggling.  Trouble was, there was still a good twenty seconds left.  I tried to get back into my happy place and started in on the 23rd Psalm.  And once again I found myself at the I-can't-hold-this-for-another-second moment.  As I was rattling off that scripture, I sputtered, "and all that crap."
Now, this was definitely not one of my brighter moments.  (And Lord, I do apologize for throwing my word of desperation into your Word.)  But the real kicker is my sweet son will not let it go.

Of all the things he could've taken note of - like the fact that I was actually holding this unending plank, or that I was trying to utilize scripture and the power of the Lord for strength - he has tucked away my not-so-nice-paraphrasing of scripture for future reference.  And that night after we said our prayers and I tucked him into bed, when I started to walk away, he says, "Hey mom."  I said, "What?"  Giggling with that silly grin and cackle, he blurts out, "AND ALL THAT CRAP!"

I'm pretty sure I will never live this down.

Maybe this ab challenge wasn't such a great idea.

Just like Grandma did...

Senior year of high school, my grandma started making Jay and I fried tenderloin sandwiches before ball games.  I'm not sure how it started, except that maybe I just asked her to do it, but routinely we would go out to grandma's house before a game, basketball or football, and eat a big, juicy, full-of-grease tenderloin, cooked to perfection.

She would sit down on that end bar stool (that was her spot, you know) and we would eat around the bar/counter there in her upstairs kitchen.  They were so tasty.  I don't make them very often at all, but I can assure you, my tenderloin sandwiches don't come out quite like Grandma's did.

At grandma's house potatoes, of course, were a must for almost every meal.  Lately, I've been making fried potatoes a lot.  Gosh, I love fried potatoes. They sure do make me think of her.  She made the best fried potatoes.  Her secret...after slicing the potatoes, was lying them out on paper towels to soak up every bit of moisture from them before putting them in the frying pan.  I do that to this day and I think it helps.  Maybe it's all in my head.  Maybe it's not.  But that's how it's done at my house...just like Grandma did.

As I change out the seasons, I go to my storage room or shelves and there I see it, artificial flower arrangements in plastic bags.  Things labeled with tape.  Something for every season.  You guessed it, just like Grandma did.

Grandma put a napkin or paper towel in any kind of plastic container before putting the lid on it, to soak up any leftover moisture.  That tidbit stuck with me too.  I have been opening up thermos jugs and coolers for the summer season recently and finding a simple napkin or paper towel in the bottom of them. My kids don't get it.  I didn't get it way back when either.  I get it now.  It does work and I will continue to do it just like grandma did.

I found my grandma's homemade brownie recipe (chewy - her notation) and am preparing myself to try them.  Problem is, I know they won't turn out the way hers did.  That is always a bummer.  I have attempted her smooth candy about 19 times with total failure.  I wish I could make that silly candy just like Grandma did.

Constantly, I find myself doing something that reminds me of grandma.  Whether it is putting potatoes out on a paper towel to dry or sticking a napkin in a thermos.  And I have been noticing lately how my kids comment on the way their grandmas do things.  I guess that is how methods and ideas continue on, by being passed down from one generation to another.

I hope some day that my grand kids are doing things just like Grandma did.

A little of this and a little of that

This morning as I was getting ready for work, I noticed there were some major shoe shelf violations at the back door.  Do you see those two bottom, mostly empty, shelves...

Madolyn and I are in compliance with the Shoe Shelf Code.  Jay and Lane are not.  They just keep laughing, but it's not so funny when you trip on shoes as you walk in the door...is it?

Soaking up some rays.

Sweet Josie will search the house for a ray of sunshine and plop down.  It's so funny sometimes to find her in obscure places because she has found a patch of sunlight.

Madolyn finished her Spring club volleyball season.  It won't be long and she will be practicing and attending open gyms for High School Volleyball. (How crazy is that?  Mad will be a freshman!)

I took a last tournament photo of her Force Pink team. We were missing on player who was at a track meet.  One of the best parts of this club was meeting and playing with girls from area schools.

It was funny hearing them say, "baa" before every line. 

We had the closing program to our Wednesday night youth last week.  Madolyn's bunch did a skit and were sheep.  The girls did a good job and may have a future in acting...as farm animals.

Lane turned 10 a while back.  It's hard to believe that it has been a decade since he joined our family.

I'm not really sure why he is making this face...to be goofy, I imagine. We're all excited when someone wants a DQ Ice Cream Cake!

I'm glad my in-laws are good sports!

We celebrated Lane & Grandma's birthdays along with Easter.  It isn't a party until there is silly string EVERYWHERE.   Thankfully, it's an easy clean-up once it dries.

This was payback from Aunt Ashley & Uncle Jordan.  We gave our nephew silly string for his birthday...at their house.

I must end with this photo...a true portrayal of our daughter.  She loves to be in her volleyball uniform.  Slap on a pair of boots, grab a pig stick and you've got pig-show training apparel.

The Ab Challenge

Last week, it dawned on me that I had about four-and-a-half weeks until vacation.  A beach vacation. Which means swimsuits - puke!  I'm sick to death of trying to lose weight, I just want to be healthy so I decided I need to work with what I have.  And regardless of what the scale says, my body is weak and out of shape.

I've known for quite a while that I need to work on strengthening my core.  The core of your body is responsible for more than I realized.  It needs to be strong to support us.  My lower back aches, body aches and posture, I'm hoping, will be improved by a stronger middle.

So like I mentioned, last week it hit me that it was now or never, as far as vacation goes, in toning up what I've got.  If I happen to lose a couple pounds between now and then, I'll take that as well, but I am on a mission to try to firm up my mid-section.

I started looking on Pinterest for a good Ab workout.  Oh good heavens, that silly website gets me every time.  Overwhelms me, makes my head spin.  You click here, and then here and it takes you there, ahhhh!  Finally, I went to my beloved Google and just typed in what I was looking for.  (What did we do before Google?)

There are many different Ab work-outs and challenges in cyber space, but I finally found one that looked doable.  And by doable, I mean, short and sweet.    A let's-get-right-down-to-business type of plan.  30 days to firmer abs.  Do you promise?  Oh yes, I'll take one of those, please.

My biggest concern was seeing the 120-second plank on day 30.  Do you realize that 120 seconds is two minutes?  Two minutes isn't a long time when you're driving down the road or watching television, but when you're shaking and biting your lip to hold yourself up by your arms and abs, two minutes is close to an eternity.

I decided, regardless of the intimidating 120-second plank, I could do this or die trying.  I got Madolyn on board and my friend Traci, who is under the same timeline for her son's wedding.  Jay decided to jump on the Ab challenge train.  Then Lane was watching us and thought it would be good for him to prepare for football this summer.  We were eating supper with some friends, who we are vacationing with, and they decided they would all do it too.

Funny thing, I told a few of these folks that I would probably do more than the required amount of sit-ups because how could 15 sit-ups do any good?  I had serious ground to cover...

I'm on day eight and what I feared most - the plank - is the least of my worries.  Real sit-ups are the spawn of Satan, I tell you.  And what is crazy is that I used to do all kinds of ab exercises without any problem.  It is amazing how your body falls out of sync so quick.  Of course, when I use the phrase 'so quick', I'm talking like six years or so.  Yes, I think it has been that long since I did any kind of ab routine more than once in a six-month period.

And as long as Lane Truman isn't lying next to me as I do the challenge, I can get through it.  If that little booger is there 'coaching' me, I crumble.  He laughs the whole time, which makes me laugh, and I can't get through it.  It's best to let mama go at it alone...

Regardless of how my abs look at the end of this 30 days, mentally, I already feel better.  And the amazing thing, as my bff Jay said, is how fast our bodies re-adjust and get right back in the groove.  The first night, when I plopped down on the floor to do those super easy, nothing-to-worry-about-sit-ups, I soon realized how far out of it I was.  It was all I could do to complete those 15 sit-ups...the whole time thoughts of failure were filling my head.  I was going to press on and do my best, but doing 50 sit-ups, let alone 125 (day 30)  were seemingly out of reach.  A pure fantasy in my mind.

Last night I did half of my sit-ups (1/2 of 40) without using the couch to hold my feet.  Truly, I could not believe it.  How was I already able to do that?  When just a few days ago, I could barely muster up the strength to pull myself up to my knees with the huge couch holding me down.  I'm so determined to finish this challenge and prove to myself, and maybe a couple of my roommates, that I'm not a complete weakling!

Today is a rest day, yee-haw.  Every four days, we get one of those, to allow our body to recover.  Similar to my thoughts of doubling up on some of the sit-ups at the beginning, I thought rest days were going to be such a waste.  How silly was I!  The first one was like manna from heaven!  Today is our second rest day and I plan to enjoy it.

Just like with anything, taking that first step is the most difficult and often the most important.  I've known for a long time that I needed to do something, anything, to improve my aching body.  Madolyn, an over-achiever at times like her father, suggested throwing in a 30-day leg challenge, I told her one thing at a time is all I can handle right now.  This gal is a work in progress.  But who knows, after the abs are complete, I just may be ready to tackle the next one!

**And no, I will not be posting before & after pictures...you'll just have to take my word for it.**