Bathing Beauties

My sister watches Leah on her day off.

Since it's hotter than Hades 'round these parts, they spend a lot of time in the pool.

Two towels...

Two chairs...

Two ladies practicing pool safety.

Leah calls my sister Ana.  It's a lot easier to say than Aunt Adriana.  They get along well but sometimes I hear them bickering back and forth.  It's very cute.



Something's Always Wrong

I was trying to think of what to write about today and the usual suspects popped up.

My kid? Been there, done that. Ad infinitum.

Working mommy guilt? Think I’ve touched on that enough for a lifetime.

Running? Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

My dead mom? Not everyone needs to cry every day due to the epic writings of my overinflated ego.

Honestly, I think I need psychiatric help. When I think about things, I mean, really think about things, I have a great life. A good marriage, a supportive husband, an intelligent kid, a nice house, great friends, a good family, a secure job. Yet, I am always looking for something to complain about. Always searching for something that might be wrong, or off, or needs improvement.
Rather than focusing on all the good in my life, and just enjoying it, I find myself only able to see the imperfect things, and then I harp on how I can’t fix it, and how hard it is to deal with it, and waaaahhhhhh. Seriously, I don’t know why more people don’t tell me to STFU more often.

A couple of weeks ago my dad told me, in so many words, that maybe it was time to get over my mom’s death and stop being so angry and sad about it. I was all bent out of shape when he said that. I thought, “Well, he’s not in my head! He doesn’t live my life; doesn’t know what I go through! He’s so insensitive!” But, maybe he had a point.

I mean, if I spend all day thinking about how cruddy life is now that my mom is gone, I might miss something important.  Like how GOOD life is despite my mom being gone. If I exert as much energy on trying to enjoy time with my family as I exert on being aware of the absence of my mom, I would probably see that things are not that bad.  Maybe even quite good.
Yes, I miss my mom and wish she could have met and known Leah. Yes, I wish she could have been here for when Marco’s baby is born. And I really wish she could be here for when Adriana gets married.

But I still get to experience those things. Those are really great things that I will get to live with and know. And it’s okay to be happy for the fact that I get to have those experiences even though she doesn’t.

Maybe it is time to stop dwelling on something that I can’t change. Something that will affect me forever and that I’ll never forget. But, it doesn’t have to negatively impact every other aspect of my life. My mom’s death doesn’t have to ruin my future.

Quit your bitching and go make this leaf into some rhubarb pie!


Weekend Wrap Up

Leah here. My mom’s not feeling well today, so I told her I’d take over the website and give everyone a weekend update.  It's all about me, anyway.  She sometimes complains of being tired because, get this, she thinks I get up too early, but that's just crazy talk.  Moving on.

Friday night we had to run to the store for wrapping paper, because my friend Shanny’s birthday party was on Saturday. I picked out hot pink paper and Mommy let me hold it on the way home.

Then on Saturday morning, before the party, I had some welding to do. Safety first of course.

We headed to my Grandpa’s Luncheonette for breakfast and I fell asleep on the way home. It happens. My car seat is pretty comfortable.

On Sunday mornings I like to read. Sometimes it’s the paper, sometimes it’s my Little Mermaid notebook. Whatever’s available, you know?

Oh, this is such a good part!

So, that's it!  Hope you had a good weekend, too!


17 Things I Like

In no particular order...

1) A clean house.

2) A new purse.

3) A spa pedicure.

4) This song.

5) When Leah puckers her lips to give me a kiss.

6) Walmart's Indulgence Trail Mix.

7) When I make my husband laugh and he's trying hard not to.

8) When I get every single thing on my work to-do list done for the day.

9) It Se Bit Se underwear.

10) Miney.

11) The way Leah asks people if they want a Slurpee.

12) Weekends with no plans.

13) Thursday wine nights.

14) David Gray.

15) The way I feel after my run is complete.

16) Listening to Leah sing along to a CD in the car.

17) Laughing.  Really laughing.  Laughing so hard I'm crying. 

Dana, July, 1978


Running Update: So Maybe I'm Figuring This Out

Listen, I don't want to make a big deal about this but on June 18, 2010 and on June 20, 2010 I found myself running and it wasn't totally sucking.  I wouldn't say the sucking was completely absent, but I could see why people continue with this activity and while others write books about it and why those ridiculous looking running skirts appear to be all the rage these days.

Friday, June 18th was a perfect day, running-wise.  I could not have asked for more beautiful weather.  It was the last day of my 4-minute interval program which had kicked my butt for the past two weeks.  When I first started it, I could not even get through the program without pausing it for a few minutes here and there.  And on Friday, I got through the whole thing, and when I ran into a neighbor on my way home, I was able to carry on a conversation with her despite just finishing the program.  Rather than vomiting on her shirt, which is what would have happened two weeks prior.

On Father's Day, June 20th, I didn't get out to run until 8 p.m.  It had been a long day and my energy was sapped.  (Being nice to both my father and my husband was tough for me, but I pulled through.)  It was the first time I was doing the 6-minute interval program and I was nervous I wouldn't be able to get through it.  Au contraire.  I got through it and I came home and cleaned my house and made lunches for the next day.

These might seem like small accomplishments, and I guess they are, but to me they prove that I am getting stronger and improving.  If you remember, I almost died during my first run after I had to run for two minutes.  And now I can run for 6 minutes without stopping.  6 minutes!  That's like practically a marathon.

"Go a mun, mommy? I mun?"


A Crappy Morning and an Elton John Song

Yesterday was a rough morning.  We had a time, that's for sure.

Our normal morning routine begins with me taking a shower before Leah wakes up.  Then when I'm getting dressed I usually hear her wake.  She helps me make my bed and then we get her dressed before heading to the family room, where she sits and eats her breakfast (pancakes) and watches Barney.  In the 23 minutes that Barney is on, I make coffee, make my breakfast, do my hair, put on my makeup, pack my briefcase and feed the pets.  Oh, and I do all of this while checking on Leah every 3 minutes or so, because hello? She could be choking.

Here is where you  might want to criticize my decision to allow Leah to watch Barney while eating breakfast.

Here is where I'm ignoring you.  Because all of the above stuff happens before 7:30 a.m., and if you know of a better way to get all of the stuff I need to get done while a child is following me at that time of day, then you're a better parent than me.  Also, write a book.

After all of that is done, Leah brushes her teeth, grabs her lunch box and we walk over to Gabrielle's, who watches her for the day. 

Leah is a creature of habit, so as long as you don't mess with her schedule, all is well.

Except yesterday, she slept late, so, by the time we made it to the family room for breakfast, it was already 7:15, and we only had 15 minutes to eat, watch Barney, and brush her teeth.  This change didn't bode well for her.  (You can imagine what my hair and make up looked like, as well.)

By the time I wrestled her, in tears, to Gabrielle's, I was an emotional mess.  She had thrown a major tantrum when I turned off Barney mid-show; I had to literally hold her arms down in order to brush her teeth; her uneaten breakfast was in a baggie for her to have at Gab's house, and she was not happy about that.  There had been a syrup incident.  I don't remember if I even fed Ruby.  I can't recall if I was wearing shoes.  Suffice to say, it was all really overwhelming. 

And as I was struggling to get out of the house by 7:30, I KNEW what was necessary.  I KNEW what would make this right.  I KNEW that I should have called work and told them I had to take a day, called Gab and told her Leah wasn't coming, and I should have just spent the day with my daughter.  I knew she needed that.  We needed that.

But yesterday was Tuesday.  And I have an important meeting every Tuesday morning.  And I couldn't call in.  And I just felt terrible.

Once I got in the car and started driving I began to calm down.  Until Howard Stern began discussing the song "Levon" by Elton John.  In the song Levon has a son named Jesus who works for the family business but wants to leave and do his own thing.  And Levon's really sad.

It got me thinking.  Right now Leah wants to spend time with me.  And soon, like Jesus (Levon's son, I'm not getting religious here or anything) she's going to want nothing to do with me.  Soon, I'll be that thorn in her side, making her come on vacations with us, making her come to visit her grandfather every week, enforcing her curfew.  And I can't help but notice the irony in the situation.

Right now, when she wants to spend time with me, I can't do it.  I have to work.  I don't have a choice in the matter so I'm not even going to get into the stay-at-home-mom verses the working mom debate.  I'm over that. (For now.)  I have to leave Leah at times and go to work.  And she wants me to be with her.  And it kills me that at some point the tables will turn and she will no longer need me.  No longer want me to stay home with her.  With my luck, the day I retire is the day she will decide that parents are lame.

So, it sucked, and then I cried, and then I was ok.  But, it's still worth mentioning that when people say that parenting is an emotional rollercoaster, they are most definately not kidding.


June 22, 2007

We were born before the wind

Also younger than the sun

Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic

Hark, now hear the sailors cry

Smell the sea and feel the sky

Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic

And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home

And when the fog horn blows I want to hear it

I don't have to fear it

And I want to rock your gypsy soul

Just like way back in the days of old

And magnificently we will flow into the mystic

When that fog horn blows you know I will be coming home

And when that fog horn whistle blows I got to hear it

I don't have to fear it

And I want to rock your gypsy soul

Just like way back in the days of old

And together we will flow into the mystic

Come on girl...

Too late to stop now...

Happy Anniversary, Hun.  It's been a great three years.



This weekend I got to spend some time with my husband and my daughter. We didn’t do anything super exciting, but being together was really special.

It's good to just chill every once in a while.  To calm down and relax and not take for granted all that I have.

To leave the laundry, the dusting, the dishwasher, the everything.

I need to appreciate a little girl running.

A little ninna-nanna.

A rest in a chair.

A strawberry smile.

Or the fact that she now sleeps with the lights on.  And don't even try to turn them off in the middle of the night because you. will. be. sorry.  (What the heck is this all about? She just up and decided this weekend that she needs the lights on all night.  Despite the fact that she's never needed the lights on and has a night light.  As always, comments appreciated.)
So yeah, we had a good weekend.  And now it's back to work.  And to school.  And to the laundry.  Hope you enjoy your week.  A couple of cool cats 'round these parts got married three years ago tomorrow.  They say that the 3rd anniversary is leather and crystal.  Since neither of those items can be purchased on my lunch break at Walmart, in this house three years signifies going out to dinner, I guess. 


About a Boy

This is Greg.

Greg recently began working with my dad.

So far, it appears to be going well.

I'm a nervous wreck, though, thinking about how the two men in my life now spend over 8 hours a day with each other.

I'm afraid that this might end in my not speaking to one of them.

Or both.

In addition to working with my dad,
which, believe me, I could NEVER do,
Greg is an awesome dad to one Miss Cha Cha.

Who is slightly obsessed with her new "bike."

But this weekend we are going to try to not be too high maintenance,
or demanding, or attention-seeking,
as us girls are sometimes wont to do,
and we are going to do special things for Greggy.

Yes, there will still be biking...

And don't forget looking cute...

But we'll also try to spend some time together as a family and appreciate all that we've got.

And all that's still to come.



Big E

If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll know that my dad is crazy. He was born in Italy in 1949, came to America in 1969, married my mom in 1974, and became a dad in 1976. And again in 1980. And one more time in 1982.

And god help us all if that list ever continues.

I’m not sure what made my dad crazy exactly, but it could be a mix of his heritage, his upbringing, and good old fashion love. At least, that’s what my dad claims. He loves us all so much, that his children and their antics are responsible for making him nuts.

My mom would work a few nights a week when we were young. I will never forget the way my dad would sing “We’re Off to See the Wizard” pulling both my sister and I on each arm up the steps on our way to bed. You know how kids sometimes laugh so hard they can’t even control their body and they fall to the ground? THAT’S what would happen to Adriana and I when he would sing that song.

I’ve written before that my dad was quite strict with me, and I wasn’t permitted to do much on my own growing up. I went to ONE high school party where alcohol was served, and when I was caught, I got in trouble. I wasn’t permitted to go down the shore for Memorial Day weekend my senior year of high school with the rest of my class. When I returned home after college I was expected to follow his strict curfew rules that hadn’t really changed much since high school, and it caused a LOT of problems between us. So much so, I moved out when I was 22 and got my own apartment.

Since it’s been quite some time, I think I can say this, which I’ve been holding in for a long time. Dad, when I moved back home after graduation you expected me to be home by midnight on most nights. This in itself was tough because I had just spent four years living in Boston making my own curfew rules. I had graduated with honors and all of my limbs still intact. I thought I had sufficiently proved to everyone that I was a pretty good judge of being my own boss with regards to returning home at night. HOWEVER, what made following the curfew rule so difficult was that Marco was sneaking out of the house every single night and taking the bus to NYC to skateboard and, when I caught him leaving one night, he asked me not to tell you and I promised to keep his secret. So, while I was expected to be home and asleep by midnight, Marco was gathering his quarters and taping his sneakers, or whatever stupid things skaters did, preparing for his night out.

There. I feel better.

The aftermath of me moving out and years and years of strife could possibly have been avoided if I had ratted my brother out. But I didn’t.  Ah, who am I kidding.  I still would have moved out and Marco would have gotten in trouble.  It wasn't worth it.

Anyway, once I moved out, the relationship between my dad and I had its ups and downs. It was a tough few years where I was upset for being kicked out and he was upset for feeling that I abandoned him.

Suffice to say, we had a time.

But time heals, and today, I am proud to say that we have a good relationship. I mean, I still think he’s nuts, and I am sure he thinks I’m a pain in the butt, but we have been through a lot together and we’re in it for the long haul. And now, I’ve got Leah. And it’s important to me for both of them to be in each other’s life.

So, on Sunday, I’m going to spend some time with my dad and show him how much I love him and appreciate him. He’s a good dad and he provided for us in every possible way.



Mrs. Grieco-School Nurse

My mom worked as a school nurse before she died.
And she was very well loved.
The line at her wake never slowed down; the people kept coming.
Current students, past students, co workers.
Everyone loved Pat.
This page is from the 2007-2008 school yearbook.

I want to cram so much into this website.  So that it's all there, all out there for everyone to see.  For those who knew her to remember.  For those who never met her to learn what she was like.  I love reading the dedication page in this yearbook.  Knowing that she touched other's lives like she touched ours.  We miss you, mom.  Life is not the same since you left it.


Stinky Bike

Due to a severe drop in spitting instances, along with a heaping tablespoon of guilt (working-mommy guilt, daycare guilt, dead grandma guilt—you choose) it was determined that a bike would be purchased for Leah last night.

When she was informed of this decision, she almost lost it, for the excitement over the prospect of a new bike was immense.

I explained to her that I would clean up after dinner, and then we would go to Target for the bike.

She then asked about 4 times a minute about her new bike.

After about 10 minutes of this, I told her she had to cool it. I had already explained that once I cleaned up the dinner dishes, we would be heading to Target to get her stinkin’ bike!

“Stinky bike! Stinky bike! Stinky bike!”

{Greg doesn’t think it’s as funny as I do, but, even today, every time I asked her what type of bike she has, she tells me a Stinky Bike. It’s freakin’ hilarious!}

Once we got to Target, we decided to purchase a scooter instead, as she was grasping the concept of scooting a lot faster than the concept of pedaling. I had her give her birthday gift card to the cashier to pay for her new “bike” and off we went to our house to ride it.

We didn’t have a lot of time to spend outside with the stinky bike, but hopefully we will tonight.

Simulating going very fast on her bike.

She woke up this morning screaming for her stinky bike.


And even watched her sacred Barney on her stinky bike.  She doesn't normally like distractions while watching Barney, but her bike proved to be a perfectly fine watch-point.  Ruby didn't even get yelled at for being too close to her while she was concentrating on her show.



Dear Mom...

Sorry I got mad at you a couple of weeks for dying. I know that if you knew you were going to die, you never would have had the surgery. It’s not your fault.

This weekend Leah spent some time with her Grandpa Enzo. They did a lot of climbing and jumping—you know, fun stuff. She was excited to go and see him, and then, once we got there, she refused to kiss him hello or go near him. Typical Leah. Once I left, she was back to her friendly self, of course.

I’ve been hearing a lot about how her behavior is different when I’m around verses when I’m gone. If I leave her with someone, she is a little princess angel. I come into the picture and we’ve got a WMD on our hands.

I am told this is normal, so I’m not going to worry.


Leah was supposed to get a bike yesterday. But then she spit at her dad. And then she spit again in time out. So, today, there are no pictures of Leah on her new bike…since she didn’t get one.

However, here a couple of pictures right before she hit the tennis courts.



All of the People, All of the Time

I have this fear that there are people who don't like me.  And this need to make them all like me.

I remember back to when I was young, and I found out that a girl in my class didn't particularly care for me.  I was horribly upset.  WHY doesn't she like me?! I would lament as I furiously wrote in my Cabbage Patch Diary. It became my mission to make her like me. I think that's when I started honing my sense of humor.  The fastest way to get someone to like you is to make them laugh. 

So, I became the funny girl.  And I played her relatively well.  I have a pretty good sense of reading people, so, throughout my life, whenever my little antennae would fixate on someone who was not particularly fond of me or what I was saying, I simply turned on the charm, and the funny, and gently guided that person on back to my side.  And that was it!  Easy queasy.

Only, I'm slowly starting to realize that it's not really necessary to have everyone like you, every time.  In fact, sometimes I feel like my need to not insult or alientate people has kept me from letting my true feelings out.  And my desire to not hurt someone's feelings has DEFINATELY hurt mine.

All this making sure that everyone loves me is downright exhausting.  And it gives me a headache.  And my lord, it drives me to drink.  And wine doesn't solve all problems, you know.

Well, most of them.  Oh, wine, how I love you...

Back to the topic, Dana.  From now on, I'm not going to obsess about everyone liking me.  I'm not going to hold back my thoughts for fear that they might make someone not like me.  I'm not going to sacrifice what I want to do, and do what everyone else wants to do, just because I don't want to ruffle any feathers.  I'm not going to say yes all of the time. 

Ok, I'm going to try to do all of the above.  Just because I've reconized a problem does not mean that I've recified it.  These things take time.  But, I'm starting with not letting the fact that people may not like me affect me. 

You can't please all of the people, all of the time. 

I think someone famous said that, like Confucious.  Or Britney Spears.

And, due to all of the cute pictures I post on this website, you probably think my daughter is the most photogenic, adorable, perfect, beautiful kid out there.  And you would be mostly right.  But not all pics head to Parents' Magazine.  And, hey, if I'm keeping it real, then I gotta make sure I keep it real in all facets of my life.

Sorry, kid.  Get over it.


Welcome To The Black Parade

Every time I think that I am getting over this, every time I think that I am okay with the cards I’ve been dealt and the loss that I’ve endured, something-whether big and bold or tiny and insignificant-hits me. And it can be the teensiest thing: a sentence, an event, a stranger, a revelation. But it’s enough to throw me back to November 10, 2007, the morning it all started.

It was a Saturday. Greg and I had woken up early and were cleaning up breakfast. I remember the TV was on—a show on TLC called “Kids By The Dozen.”

I had to go to the bathroom. That day marked my 20th week of pregnancy; I was officially half way there. On my way to the bathroom I heard the phone ring. Greg looked at the caller id and told me it was my dad. I told him to tell him to either wait a minute until I finished or I’d call him right back, as I closed the bathroom door behind me.

My father has an Italian accent and speaks loudly. It must be a gut reaction, but when people speak to him, they too speak loudly. As I walked to the sink to wash my hands I noticed that I hadn’t heard Greg talking to my dad. I had heard him say, “Hello,” but then he didn’t say anything else. I didn’t hear the the tell tale loud-speak that comes when one speaks to my dad on the phone.

As I stood there in front of the sink I knew right then and there something had happened.

I slowly opened the door and walked down the hallway. Greg met me at the end of the hallway. He said, “I have to tell you something.”

It was then that I took a mental snapshot of my life. I wanted to remember life, and how good it was, at that very moment. I knew that what he was going to tell me was going to be devastating. I tried to hold it off for as long as I could.

“No. I don’t want to hear it.”

“I have to tell you.”

“No, I don’t want to know. Oh god! Ok, let me guess. It’s my grandmother.”


“Oh no, oh no! It’s Marco. It’s him! Is it a car accident? Is someone dead? Just tell me, is someone dead?!”


“Ok. Who is it?”

“It’s your mom. She had a heart attack.”  At that moment I fell to my knees.

“They are just waiting for her to wake up. Go and take a shower, and get dressed and we’ll drive to St. Joe’s and wait for her to wake up.”

I don’t know if my father told Greg that they were just waiting for her to wake up or if that was something that Greg made up for me. I will probably never ask Greg or my dad, so I will never know. I mean, it was not the truth, not at all. So, I’m not sure who decided to go with that.

I remember my shower taking so long because I would start crying over and over. I remember it started to snow once we got on the highway. I remember the tire pressure light came on and Greg insisted on pulling into a gas station to fill the tire.

At that point, for the first time in my entire pregnancy, I wanted time to stand still. I didn’t want the next five months to go by so that I could meet my daughter. The last thing I wanted at that very moment was to know what her name would be.

You see, Greg and I had a difficult time choosing a name for Leah. I remember going through page after page of the baby-name book praying that one would just leap out at me. I had a wish that I could just have a tiny glance into the future and find out what her name was. To save us the time and effort it was costing us to agree on one.

And, as I sat in the car, watching the snow fall on the windshield, cursing Greg for stopping to fill the tire at a time like this, I realized that if I could have been given the opportunity to know my future daughter’s name at that moment, I would have passed.

That morning is so vivid in my mind. The rest of the week, and the following week, I remember in snippets. Being told by the hospital front desk that I wasn’t permitted to go up to see my mother, trying to remain calm when asking her to look into it but not being able to finish the sentence, the look on her face when she was told we were permitted to go up. (That’s when I knew my mother was going to die, that they weren’t just waiting for her to wake up.)

Being left alone with my mom soon after arriving while Greg drove my dad home to change. Asking Gwen the nurse how good her chances were of waking up and being told, “slim to none.” Asking if it was true that people with strong personalities have more of a chance of pulling through. Being told no. Being thankful for that.

The Code Blue alarms that went off three times that night. The way we’d jump up out of our seats when the alarm would go off and run out of her room into the waiting room and all sit there holding each other's hands so tightly…waiting for the foot steps to come down the hall to tell us it was over.

Hearing each time that she had pulled through, again.

Signing the DNR.

Speaking with doctor after doctor. Her one doctor telling my dad that I should be concerned about my weight and my dad having to inform him that I was pregnant.

Gwen returning on day 2 in a horrible mood.

Physically not being able to eat for the first time in my life.

Deciding it was time.

The woman who tried to convince us that we didn’t need a full autopsy. Me telling her that in 23 years I was going to be my mother’s age and I owed it to my unborn child to make sure that I didn’t die.

The grueling three and a half days she continued to live.

The song “I hope you dance” playing on a friend’s myspace page when I received the phone call that she had finally died.

And five months later, having to return to that hospital to give birth to Leah Patricia.

Named for Patricia Ellen Grieco.

I live with these memories and on most days I am able to keep them inside. And not let them affect my life. But then something small happens—to me. Or to Leah. Mostly to Leah. And I go back and think about how life was before. How much Leah had been through before she was even born. How much I have to tell her in the future. How much she’s going to miss.

We'll carry on, we'll carry on
And though you're dead and gone, believe me
Your memory will carry on, we'll carry on
And in my heart I can't contain it
The anthem won't explain it



Just, Sit Back...

Lately, Leah has been showing some personality traits that very closely resemble her father's.  While she already has many of his interests, like the outdoors and gardening, she is now portraying qualities like stubborness, impatience, and moodiness, which Greg seems to ALSO portray. 

Now, don't get me wrong; I too can occassionally be those things, but Greg seems to be them a lot more than me.  And, when it comes to our family unit and family matters, I feel that I am much more relaxed and open to opposing opinions and suggestions than my husband.  And my daughter.

And, please don't think that I am only focusing on the unsavory qualities, it's just that these seem to outshine the pleasant qualities that she shares with her father, like, uh, hmm, I'll have to get back to you.  I'm sure there are lots, though.

So, while she may look more like me, she appears to have taken up his personality.  And, I'm fine with that.  I obviously love his personality, since I put a ring on it three years ago.

However, there are some of my traits that come through at times.  For instance, you would be hard pressed to find a picture of Greg during his cheerleading days.  Because they did not exist.

But, she must get her mad cheerleading skillz from someone, right??!!

Ah, now I see.


Running Update: Second Verse, Same as the First

So. Running. Not getting any easier. Or more enjoyable.

Don’t get me wrong-I LOVE the idea of running. But the actual act is a different story.

I am on Week Four of the program and, after a 5 minute brisk-walk warm up, I’m supposed to jog for 4 minutes and then briskly walk for 1 minute and repeat that whole shebang 5 times before a 5 minute cool down.

I’ve attempted and failed twice to get through this workout without having to stop for a break or slow down to a walk during one of the jogs.

It’s so hard.

I’m going to try again tonight. The weather is cooler than it has been, and I’m determined to do it, so maybe tonight will be the night.

In other news, friends that I don’t see very often have asked how much weight I’ve lost since I began running. Well, that’s easy! The answer is NONE!


I know. I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong either. (Wine.)

Full disclosure: my scale’s battery died a few weeks ago. But, my clothing is fitting the exact same (if not tighter. I know—how cute!) as it always has. So, I’m pretty sure I haven’t lost any weight. (Wine.)

I wish I could figure out how to do this running program and drop a few. It would be like a little bonus! (Wine.)

In other, more inspirational news, my friend Catherine ran a half marathon a couple of weeks ago. A HALF MARATHON. 13.1 miles. I doubt I could walk that distance, let alone run it, so, kudos to Catherine.

She actually lived to tell about it too. In case that wasn’t obvious.

So, to recap:

1) Have not found the Absence of Suck

2) Have not lost any weight

3) Have a friend that can run long distances

  What do you say we look at something cute?




At first, he was a little scary...

But then he started singing this song about tapping my knees, which I love to do very much.

And, I got to do the limbo with him, which was also very fun.

So, I decided to touch him, and he was sort of soft...

 And then Aunt Christie hugged him, and she was ok!

So, I thought, Aw, heck, I can do it too!

And I was fine!

My other favorite part was CAKE!

I hate waiting for candle placement.


I had a great time and love my friends and got lots of presents and ate icing for lunch and drank about 8 capri suns and jumped into the pool despite the fact that I can't swim and had to be pulled out and threw rocks and ran around and refused to go to bed and had the best time of my entire life! 

Can't wait for next year!!!!