I bought a road bike. She’s* real pretty. I got shoes that clip in and a fancy saddle so my delicates won’t hurt.

My new ride.

And now I guess I have to ride this bike.

I know it’s ridiculous, but this bike scares me. The clips scare me, because I will fall over. It’s simply a matter of when, not if. You all can start a betting pool now.

But it’s not only falling that scares me. Road rash and shame, unappealing though they are, are temporary. I’m much more afraid of that bike gathering dust in my garage. I look at it and hear the two voices that are constantly bickering inside my head:

Whheeee! A new bike! Just imagine all the great rides ahead of you.

vs.

When, exactly, do you plan to do all of this riding? And do you really expect to ever achieve anything bigger than finishing a little sprint triathlon? Who are you kidding, lady?

A) Don’t tell me you have peaceful silence in your head. Please tell me that you, too, have conflicting self-talk going on.

B) That second voice is bitchy, right?

I think that this latest fear – and doubt – are only a glimpse into my psyche. And possibly a lot of other psyches, as well. I can’t be alone, or else Pinterest, wouldn’t be plastered with quotes like this:

I’m a realist: I know that failure is always a possibility. I tell my kids that it’s much better to work hard and fail than to wonder what if…? And I believe that. I do.

And yet… I think I let the idea of failure hold me back more than I like to admit. You know, if I’m going to tell my kids that they have to be okay falling on their faces, I need to fall on mine sometimes.

I’ve heard people quote this line a few times – What would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?

There’s something to that; I kind of think you do have to approach your goals under the delusion that you cannot, will not fail. But you also have to be prepared to fail, and accept failure as part of the learning process. Is that too Pollyanna?

Just for grins, if I could guarantee success here’s what I would do:

An Iron Man

This may truly may be hilarious, since I’m clearly never getting rid of my plantar faciitis, but still. This is a no-fail scenario, so bite me, plantar faciitis.

Act, On Stage, In a Play

I’ve always said I couldn’t be an actor, because I’m awful at it. That may be the case, but I have no idea if I’m awful or not. My last role was Big Billy Goat Gruff in kindergarten. But since this is a no fail thing, I’m probably going to walk away with a Tony.

This is real life, however, and not my no-fail la-la land. So I’m going to start by taking that bike out for a ride. If you see me, please maneuver your car way far away from me, so that you don’t run over me. And also so I don’t try to wave at you, causing me to lose my balance and fall over because I couldn’t get my feet out of those clips fast enough.

I wonder…

:: Cheesy though it is, what would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?

:: What are your wise words on tackling goals and trying new things?

*The bike is a she and she’s nameless. Any thoughts?

It’s Wednesday… Guest Post Day! Today I’m excited to host the one and only Literal Mom, and guess what? Her name is Missy. She’s most definitely my second favorite Missy, after myself and before Missy Gold (remember her? Benson? Sister of Tracey?).

As I was saying, Missy of Literal Mom fame writes about being thinking parents, and she’s here today with a funny post about some of the babysitters she’s met over the years. Enjoy!

***

I’m so thrilled to be here at the fabulous Wonder, Friend today. Missy is such a thoughtful and beautiful blogger and I love how she wonders about various topics.

Here’s something I’ve wondered about for some time. And until Missy invited me to appear at her lovely location, I didn’t really think about putting it into words.

How do Babysitters get to be the way they are?

I know some of you don’t do babysitters. And more power to YOU for being able to parent around the clock without them. My husband works long hours, so having babysitters has been part of my and my children’s lives since my oldest turned one.

And I’ve found that babysitters run a full spectrum from “AWESOME! SHAZAM! BOOM!” to “OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE I JUST LEFT MY CHILD WITH THAT PERSON.”

So today I thought it would be fun to talk about them a little and maybe see if you have any Babysitting types I missed.

Babysitter Type A – The “I don’t listen to your suggestions babysitter”

This babysitter nods sagely to your to do lists, bedtime routines, snack allowances and TV watching limits. You feel pretty good that they “get” your needs for the kids. Then when you come home, you learn the kids have been watching TV for hours, chewing gum, eating snacks and creating TENTLAND in the living room. And they’re still awake at 10pm.

This babysitter type can be anyone, but most often, this type is known as . . . GRANDPARENTS.

Babysitter Type B – The “Messy Sitter”

This babysitter leaves your house significantly dirtier than when you left. She leaves the dinner dishes on the dinner table with the food congealing, she doesn’t pick up (or encourage the kids to pick up) the toys. You may find toothpaste globs on the bathroom sink and dirty clothes on the floor.

I once had a sitter not clean up a potty accident one of my children had. She just breezily stated as she walked out the door, “Oh, she had an accident. It’s on that chair over there.”

These sitters are only in it for the money or because their parents are making them do it. Or they’re lazy. They clearly did not take the Red Cross babysitting class.

Babysitter Type C – The “Crafter”

This babysitter will do crafts with your kids THE ENTIRE TIME YOU ARE GONE. Even though this sitter is prone to also have Babysitter Type B qualities (likely due to her artistic leanings), you don’t care because she has mentally engaged your children. That and she’s done something every single one of us maybe a few of us dislike. Crafts. Shudder.

I wonder where their energy comes from, but don’t really care because of what they’ve done with my children.

Babysitter Type D – The “Side Chooser” Sitter

Rare is the sitter who can identify with all children in the house. But, the side chooser clearly favors one of your children over the other and the “unfavored one” notices. Becuase that’s what kids do.

These sitters usually don’t last long in our house. Too sad for the unfavored one. And really – how hard can it be to love a child who loves jumping on the furniture?

Babysitter Type E – The “Personal Space? What’s That?” Sitter

This sitter will let your kids jump on YOUR bed, do fashion shows with YOUR clothes in YOUR room, and then take pictures of it on her cell phone and proudly show them to you when you get home. And when you go up to your room, the fashion show remnants are still lying all over your bed and floor.

Think I’m kidding? Don’t I wish. I STILL wonder what this particular sitter was thinking.

Babysitter Type F – The “Disengaged” Sitter

This sitter comes and talks on her phone, texts and emails her friends and listens to her ipod while watching your kids. The kids don’t quite know what to do with her level of disengagement, so they tend to be very well behaved out of fear.

Babysitter Type G – The “Mary Poppins” Sitter

This sitter listens to your instructions, follows them, reads to your kids, reads your kid’s individual personalities and can address their individual needs, and then, THEN! After the kids are in bed, she empties your dishwasher, tidies up your house, straightens your counters, and folds the kid’s laundry if you “accidentally” leave it where she’ll see it.

Rare is this sitter. Keep her if you get her. We have one like that right now and I’m hanging onto her so tight she might not be able to breathe sometimes.

I hope you have enjoyed this Babysitter Type Tour.

I wonder…

:: Did I miss any?

:: Have you ever wondered how they get to be the way they are? I have, only because I’ve had so many interesting ones.

:: What do you think?

***

About the Writer

Missy Bedell blogs at Literal Mom, where she encourages all parents to be thinking parents. She uses wit, humor and sometimes even tears to communicate with her audience (and her kids!). You can also find her on Facebook and Twitter.  Oh, and that yummy newish love of hers, Pinterest.

P: We wuv wemontimes! Mmmm-mmm. Come wook, dey are in da bowl, and I happy!

Translation: We love clementines. There’s an entire bowl full of them, and that makes me happy!

Wemontimes.

Happiness. It comes so naturally to children, and I think growing up makes us get all wonky on the topic.

I want to do something different today, and just ask you some I wonder… questions without providing commentary first (anyone who knows me knows that this is a challenge akin to, say, becoming an astronaut). Your answers could be featured in an upcoming post that I’m working on about happiness. I have some opinions on the matter (shocker), but I’m curious to see where other people fall.

Thanks for helping me out. I intended to make sure the questions weren’t leading in any way, but may have failed. This is just one of the many reasons my news-ed journalism minor never got much use… objectivity is hard. *You should have read those last few words in a sarcastic, nasal whine, just FYI.*

Anyway.

I wonder…

:: Are you as happy as you thought you’d be when you imagined life as an adult? More? Less? Different? 

:: Are happiness and joy the same thing? Discuss…

:: Can failure and/or pain ever lead to happiness?

:: Does success equal happiness?

:: Are some people simply wired for happiness and other people wired for a life of Debbie Downer-ism?

:: What does true happiness look like to you? When and how often do you experience that?

Today’s the day: the first in a series of guest posts here on Wonder, Friend! Today’s guest is the talented Genie in a Blog, my friend Leigh Ann. I’m so fortunate to know her in real life, and am thrilled to share her writing here today!

Let’s get right to it…

***

The other day I was perusing the mother of all time sucks, Pinterest, and found what could be a life changing thing for me: a Daily Quick Cleaning Checklist that boasts that even I can get my entire house in order with only 30 minutes a day.

Sign me the freak up! I have a house. It’s not very neat, thanks to the three small children who make the messes and a good dose of laziness on my part. Surely I have 30 measly minutes in which I can complete this checklist, right?

Okay, let’s get started. The kids have just finished breakfast, so this is my prime time to get something done before they realize I’m not really there with them and start to self destruct.

Kitchen

Clear out and wipe down the sink, put dishes in dishwasher (5 minutes): Right! Thanks to my superior mothering skills, my kids have already brought their dishes to the sink. The husband has not. Lament extra seconds wasted in gathering his dishes. Get to loading dishwa–GAH! Kink in the plan! I run my dishwasher at night, and now I have to unload. Okay, deep breaths. This’ll only take about 5 extra minutes. A nice clean house in 35 minutes instead of 30 isn’t the end of the world. Sip coffee. Now stop talking to yourself and load load load! Oh, wait. Serious drama in the living room over a plastic frog. Must referee.

Wipe down countertops and stove (1 minutes): This one I can do. I knew lack of available counterspace would come in handy. Sip more coffee. Man, it’s good. Wiping, wiping…okay whose McQueen is this? Ooh look! A coupon for $.75 off mayonnaise! Where’s my coupon file…meh just put it back on the counter. Sip more coffee. Glance at the stove with it’s egg spatters and Cheerio crumbs and call it a lost cause. I don’t want to fall farther behind schedule!

Wipe problem spots on the floor (2 minutes): I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Exactly which problem spots are you giving me 2 minutes to wipe up? How do I choose? If this is an all or nothing game, I think I have to skip this one. Besides, I’m being summoned to the bathroom. May as well give up in here and get to work in there, right?

Bathroom

Wipe out the sink (30 seconds): You’d think this would be my sweet spot, what with all the time I spend in here waiting for various children to do their business so I can be their butt butler. Two minutes in and all I’ve done is pretended to be Holly to my kid’s McQueen…yes, while she was doing her business.

Leave bathroom to hand out post potty bananas because when did it get to be 10:30? (2 minutes): And yes I washed their hands.

Wipe the toilet seat and rim (15 seconds) and swoosh the toilet bowl with a brush (15 seconds): Yeah, that sounds gross. I’m going to save myself 30 seconds and leave that one for my knight in shining Clorox. I’ll just close the lid instead. Problem solved. *wipes hands together in satisfaction*

Squeegee the shower door (30 seconds): Ha! I don’t even have any shower doors! Man, I’m getting through this list like gangbust–OMG what is going on in there??? Do NOT step on your baby sister! Oh, you were “just kidding?” I’ll step on you and show you “just kidding!”

Stand in middle of house trying to remember what you were doing before your pesky children interrupted you (60 seconds): I’m really good at this one.

Bedroom

Make your bed (2 minutes): Easy peasy. I’m glad this part of the checklist doesn’t include “do something about all that laundry laying over your footboard.”

Do something about all that laundry laying over your footboard (4 minutes): Gah! They got me. Fold t-shirts reluctantly. Shoot dirty looks at overflowing laundry basket in corner. Laundry basket does not respond by sorting itself into color piles or walking itself to the washer. Children have now climbed into bed, tossed pillows askew, and knocked folded clothes on the floor.

Straighten nightstand (30 seconds): Sorry, it took me 30 seconds just to collect all of last night’s snot rags from these blasted cedar allergies.

Living Room

Tidy the sofa (2 minutes): Straighten cushions and pillows, fold throws, watch as three children run in and one by one throw themselves over the back of the couch. Straighten cushions and pillows, fold throws, watch as three children run in and one by one throw themselves over the back of the couch. Straighten cushions and pillows, fold throws, watch as three children run in and one by one throw themselves over the back of the couch.

Pick up crumbs with a handheld vacuum (1 minute): Um, I actually don’t have a handheld number. Besides, my husband loves to vacuum. I’ll save that job for him and the crumbs for the dog. I will, however, pretend I didn’t see that shriveled up grape under the couch. Ew.

Clear major clutter (5 minutes): This is fancy talk for “get rid of the children,” right? Come on. You know it takes me at least 10 minutes to get shoes and socks on just one of them.

Oh hell, why bother? It’s almost 5 pm and time to go mess up my kitchen again. But tomorrow? I’m gonna own that list!

So I wonder…

:: Do you too feel like you are fighting a losing battle with the housework?

:: Is there any point in getting anxious about it?

:: Are you jealous that my husband loves to vacuum? (because that part wasn’t a joke–he does.)

***

About The Writer

Leigh Ann Torres is a writer, artist, wife, mother, cook, maid, bookkeeper…all around genie in a bottle, except you only get one wish, and it has to be reasonable. She lives with her family in Austin, TX, where she writes about the good, the bad, and the ridiculous of life with twins plus one at Genie in a Blog. You can also follow her at @latorres or on the Genie in a Blog Facebook page.

A few birthdays ago. I should probably stretch and warm up before blowing out candles this year.

My birthday is this week. {I’ll pause while you whoop it up in my honor.}

I’m closing in on 40, and as of this week have only two more years to be a 30-something. I know some of my readers are thinking so young! and others are thinking banana peel, grave!

I’ll tell you what I’m thinking: aging is no joke.

I read magazines. I’ve seen the warnings and the tips. I’ve seen an article a month for the last two decades about the aging process.

How to Turn Your Supermarket Into A Time Machine: Foods That Stop Aging in Its Tracks!

Your Boobs Are Old: Medical Tests You Must Have in Your 40s!

Straight From Hogwarts, We Have Magical Face Creams: Caring for Your Older Skin!

How to Make the Best of Your Coldwater Creek Credit Card Because You Can Barely Pull Off Banana Republic Or Gap and Don’t Even Think About H&M or Forever 21!

Over the years, reading these headlines led to a suspicion that our bodies change around the time we cross the threshold from 35-ish to old. Lately, my suspicions have been confirmed.

I expect things like deteriorating vision, slower metabolism, and an inability to work most technical devices. I did not expect daily life to become so hazardous just yet. I thought I had 30-40 more years before removing all the rugs to create a completely even walking surface.

So much for that. I offer you my latest list of aches and pains, and how I acquired them.

Injury: Sore shoulder.
Cause: Taking off a sports bra.

Injury: Strained gluteus maximus muscle.
Cause: Uh, no idea. Sitting, maybe. Or squating down to pick up one of my orthotic shoe inserts?

Injury: Achy, popping elbow.
Cause: Sleeping.

Injury: Twisted knee.
Cause: Putting on tights.

Injury: Stiff hip joints.
Cause: Sitting criss-cross apple sauce at the Little Gym.

Injury: Pinched nerve in my neck.
Cause: Sneezing.

I wonder…

:: I frequently forget that I’m not in my 20s, but there are days when my body won’t let me forget. Do you ever feel surprised by changes in your physical abilities (we’re not even going there with brain power… that’s a whole different post. What was I saying? Oh, yeah, I wonder…)?

Kids and phones... deadly combo? (Photo credit: soopahgrover on Flickr)

Yesterday Healthy Child, Healthy World posted an article* about the dangers of cell phone use and radiation. I recommend you read it, but to save you time right now, here are a few of the key points:

• The bone marrow of a child’s head absorbs 10 times more radiation than an adult, while those of infants and toddlers will absorb even more.
• Every major well-designed study ever conducted has found that those who use cell phones regularly for half an hour a day or more for a decade have a doubled risk of brain cancer, and those who began using cell phones as teenagers have four to five times more disease, in less than 10 years.
• Most disconcerting are findings from the highly respected Prof. Nesrin Seyhan, the NATO-supported founding chairman of the Biophysics Department at Gazi University in Ankara, Turkey, whose studies repeatedly show that prenatally exposed rats and rabbits have fewer brain cells.

I read this information with a pit in my stomach. Not because I let my children play with my phone (I do, of course), and not because I use my cell phone more than 30 minutes a day (I don’t hold it next to my head that long, but I use it, and often).

The pit was because I don’t know when to panic anymore. Everything is dangerous. Whatever you are eating/wearing/breathing/using to read this post is going to kill you. Have a nice day!

I could go with a “don’t worry, be happy” approach to health warnings. In some ways I do; in some ways, I just try to have a little faith.

But really?

Faith – in whatever it is you put your faith – does not translate to please sit on your rump, shoot radiation into your brain, eat trans-fats, guzzle a hormone-laced latte, and watch Jersey Shore, and do not worry, it will all be okay. Because you? You have faith!

No.

Whatever you believe, I still think we have to do our part. We have to be responsible, active participants in our lives. So tell me, when do I panic about all the things I’m doing to harm my children? Is it now? I’m starting to think it’s now.

Our entire world is wireless, internet enabled, and radiating rays of one kind or another. Food is fake, chemically altered, genetically modified. The sun, it’s so bright, that I gotta wear shades, SPF 4 bazillion, and long sleeved shirts.

Things look kind of like this at our house:

• We don’t let the kids chew on our phones or even play with them that often. But occasionally, yes. They use the computer now and then. Not every day, but a lot of days. And they watch TV. Every day. The Cell-Computer-TV Trifecta: part radiation, part brain-rotting entertainment.
• We’re careful about food at our house. Not iron-fisted, but careful. We buy organic, and shop locally when we can. We cook. We also eat out sometimes, and accept times when we have little control, like at birthday parties or on Christmas when none of it counts (right?). Sometimes – brace yourselves – we order pizza or Chinese food. Yep.
• Mark and I make efforts to apply SPF to all four of us every day, and always for prolonged outside time. But I do let the kids go outside without sunscreen now and then. They wear hats, and sometimes even agree to sunglasses. But there are times when the hats get tossed aside.

Should I do more, and if so, how much more?

There’s this voice I hear when I’m trying to excuse potentially dangerous decisions. The voice sounds kind of lazy, kind of cranky, and says, We’re all dying of something some time, so just roll with it. Have a cheetoh! That lab rat only died because they fed it exclusively cheetohs. You? You also drink coffee and eat hamburgers, so you’re good.

And this much is true: I have no desire to live to a ripe old age, requiring my kids to agonize over my long-term care, or heaven forbid, change my diapers. No way. I mean, as long as I have my mental faculties and can get around, then fine. But the minute I break a hip or start to think I’m Rue McClanahan, I’d like for someone to “accidentally” “trip” me and send me tush over teakettle down the stairs.

We are all dying, and there’s something to be said for punching the clock before you become infirm. I have no designs on cheating death. Immortality is uninteresting. Immortality sounds exhausting.

But I absolutely don’t want my loved ones – my babies – to die a painful, cancer-ridden death because I let them play Peekaboo Barn. So tell me, how will I ever know if I’m doing enough?

When – tell me, please – when do I panic?

*Even though this article inspired some serious concern, I still got a kick out of the title: Cell Phones, Radiation & Your Child’s Health (Giveaway!). At a cursory glance, it screams, Radiation is fun! So Fun That We’re Giving It Away!

Thanks for a giggle, even if I never laugh again because I’m so worried about fried brains.

I wonder…

:: How do you process the never-ending barrage of new reports screaming, The Latest Everyday Object/Food/Activity That Will Put You In The Grave!! Tonight at 5, 6, and 10!

Wahoo! Time to celebrate. (Photo credit: tsuacctnt on Flickr)

Ta-da! The bandages are off, and Wonder, Friend has a new face. Welcome!

{Before I get too far, I want to thank Jen from Blue Yonder Design for this new look. Jen’s a saint. A very patient saint.}

I go into some detail about the impetus behind this face lift, and my goals for the blog, on an all-new About the Blog page. I hope you’ll snoop around today and check out the two, new About pages. I also hope you’ll apply to write a guest post, but more on that in a bit.

If, however, you don’t have a lot of time to hang out on Wonder, Friend today, here’s some of what I have to say in About the Blog:

I took time off in late 2011 and thought about why I blog. I’m not going to give you the I do it for me, and don’t care if anyone is reading or not line. I probably would write even if nobody was reading, but it would not be very stimulating.

So the real deal? I blog because I think in written words.

I’m not a talker, or at least not a good one. Oh, to be a funny talker, as Mel Brooks says. But that’s not me. Words get stuck between my brain and my mouth, yet they have a relatively smooth path from brain to fingers. So I blog in order to share my thoughts, to ask questions, to connect.

I’ve always agonized over having a rhyme and reason to my posts, and since I rarely achieve consistent rhyme or reason, you can imagine the turmoil. During what I’ve come to call (sound effects, please: bum, bum, bum) Blogging Hiatus of 2011, I arrived at this (it’s so obvious and why didn’t I accept this before) conclusion: Wonder, Friend is my blog, and I can write anything, everything, or nothing of consequence. The only common thread needed here? Me.

Oh, and wondering. That’s a key element I try to always incorporate (it is in the blog’s name, after all). A lot of life leaves me thinking I wonder… how that works or why that happens or can I recover from this? Therefore, most – not all, but most – of my posts close with a question for readers. I want to open up a dialogue in the comments, so stop by and share your thoughts, your advice, your funny or sad stories.

About those guest-posts I mentioned earlier…

For me, the best part of the blogosphere is exposure to ideas and people we would otherwise never consider, never know. I want to share some of those brilliant, funny, thoughtful people on Wonder, Friend. Starting next week, Wednesdays* are reserved for guest bloggers. If you’re interested – and you are, I hope – I’m not too proud to beg, but please don’t make me resort to that – click here and fill out the form. I’ll be in touch about dates.

Thanks for sticking with me through (bum, bum, bum) Blog Hiatus 2011. I’m thrilled to be back in this familiar space, refreshed with a new look. And a new perspective. I look forward to wondering with you!

Speaking of that, I wonder…

:: When did you last overhaul something, whether your blog space, your living or work space, yourself? What was the impetus for that overhaul?

*Some Wednesdays, such as busy holiday weeks and Spring Break, will not feature a guest blogger.

I taunted. Apparently, I touched a nerve.

Payback is hell, and I have the snot to prove it. What’s that? Speak up, for congestion’s sake, because my head is so full of gunk that I cannot hear you. I had to turn up my Murder She Wrote rerun so loud that Sheriff Tupper can hear it in heaven (God rest your soul, Tom Bosley).

That’s right. I’m watching Murder She Wrote and making a list on a notepad – the kind made of actual paper. I’m also bundled up in my husband’s sweatshirt and surrounded by used tissues.

Hypothesis: Cedar Fever causes rapid aging.

Pitiful me. Not really this rainbow-y.

Like I was saying, it never pays to be mean. So I’m apologizing to you, the cedar trees of the world. I’m sorry I said such hurtful things about your intelligence and beauty. To be fair, you have neither, but I’m still sorry. Are you happy now that I’m contrite? Can you give up and leave us all alone now?

Yeah, not the greatest apology ever. Hopefully the trees bought it, though.

As for the business…

1. The new and improved Wonder, Friend unveiling is about one week away. I’m so excited my ears just popped! But I wanted to let all my readers – all nine of you who stuck with me through the blog boycott of ’11 – that the site may be down off and on for the next week. It may be down all weekend, plus a day or two next week. I don’t have specifics, but just know that if you pop by and can’t find me, that’s what’s going on.
2. Speaking of new and improved, I’m looking for guest posts. From you! If you’re interested, contact me and I’ll send you the details. The short version: I want to feature a wide variety of writers (you don’t have to be a blogger) on the new site. You can post about anything – serious or silly, long or short – as long as you are wondering about something. Want in? Tweet or Facebook me, or leave a comment here, and I’ll send you more information. And as always, I’m happy to return the favor. In fact, I would be honored to post for you any time.

That’s all for today. I’d write more, but I have to go pour salt water in one nostril and hope it comes out through the other nostril.

See you next week (hoping to get a post or two up, even though there will be some downtime).

Look what I made.

Headed for 15 more years. And then some. Photo credit: Robin Winkles Photography.

Not the tall one, but those two smaller people. I did that.

Oh, okay. The tall guy helped, too, kind of like that person in study group who always manages to get away with contributing the poster board or offering to go have the presentation bound, but doesn’t actually do any real work? I’m not saying Mark’s role was insignificant – in fact, we would have failed this project without his, uh, part. What I’m saying is that his role in the people making, well, it was less involved than my role in the people making.

Now, though? Now we’re in this thing together. Making people is no walk in the park, at least after the initial phase of the project (Which did not take place in a park. I feel the need to point that out.). There is at least some napping involved in the making phase. But raising people? Dear lord. It’s a marathon, every day, and sometimes more than one marathon a day. And not so many naps.

I’m so grateful for this man who runs alongside, who is in it not just for 26.2 miles, but for the ultra distances and extreme trail runs. Metaphorically, that is. But you know what? If I asked him to train with me for 70.3 actual miles, I think he would. Because he’s that guy.

I’m grateful for this man who lets me dream, and even dreams right along with me. This man who encourages me to write, and who supports my frequently injury-riddled sporting endeavors. This man who knows that if we’re very blessed, the children will grow up and become independent, contributing members of society. And we can sell the crap out of our house and travel. I’m grateful that we both want to keep sharing adventures, even after this first enormous one has (sort of) ended.

Of course it never ends. We chose to bring the small people into the world, and even though they will grow up one day, we’ll always be their parents. So I’m grateful, once again, that I get to run this race – this very long, never ending race – with Mark.

Last Wednesday, January 4 was our 15th wedding anniversary. Fifteen! So I think things are pretty well locked in now, and barring any events that I refuse to imagine (because it would have to be something extreme and horrific and unthinkable), we’re in this thing. Together.

And I’m grateful.

The speaker at a Bible study I attended years ago said, “Hormones are no excuse for bad behavior.” And ever since, I’ve felt guilty when I act like a nut or eat a party-sized bag of M&M’s. I think, I’m supposed to be in charge here and I’m (wrongly) using my hormones as an excuse.

Dude, I call bull-honky. Hormones mess with your head. And your stomach. And even your muscles.

I’m too (tired, hungry, cranky – pick any or all) to go in search of scientific proof at this moment – besides, I’m very busy chugging my third cup of coffee and daydreaming about chocolate chip cookies, and I can tell you without needing scientific proof that there is only one time each month that I feel the need for a third cup of coffee – but I’m willing to bet there IS proof floating around out there. Proof that hormones cause major changes, physical and mental. If you’re a doctor or a scientist, feel free to chime in, but only if you’re agreeing with me, because I’ll probably cry today if you disagree with me.

I haven’t kept a notebook or anything, but I’ve started noticing a few patterns. And yes, it’s taken nearly three decades to pick up on these patterns, but nobody ever said I was quick. So. The patterns:

So I was thinking – and hoping – that I cannot be alone here. Surely someone else has felt the tears well up at HEB because there was no organic, fat-free milk. Surely someone else has gone postal over the sound of her husband chewing. Surely someone else has thought chips, guacamole, and Schweddy Balls ice cream is an acceptable dinner. And yes, I see the connection in those examples: food seems to be a big part of this phenom.

I debated, and wondered if this could be in bad taste, and then I decided that I’m not so worried about that (let the record show that I feel like I have a cold today). I decided it could be fun – and kind of reassuring – to have a place to share your crazies.

Once a month I’m going to put a linky on Wonder, Friend, where we can post our PMS Chronicles. Next month, I’ll have a button for you, but for this month, just feel free to link up a post – new or old – in which you talk about a rash decision you made under hormonal distress, or a rotten day that you know should be chalked up to your Ladies Days (what Mark calls them, thanks to Ray Romano).

I hope you’ll help me feel less nutty. Link up! This linky will be open until midnight, January 13, at which point I should no longer be craving junk food. If you want to tweet about it, please use the hashtag #PMSChronicles. Thanks!

I wonder…