If you are the praying type...

A few months ago, I found out about a blog from a friend called C Jane Run. I started to read it, and found my way to her sister Stephanie's blog as well. I liked these bloggers, and have been checking in ever since (well, lurking, mostly, but you get my idea). They aren't blogs that I comment on, but I still feel like I know them. We grew up one town away, for one thing.

One of the numerous plane crashes this summer involved Stephanie and her husband. They are in a hospital in Mesa Arizona, and their four children are now being taken care of by Jane at C Jane. If you have a minute, stop in at these blogs and read the amazing stories there.

I have been astonished at the entries and comments I've read. I am sad for Stephanie and her husband; I can't imagine their reality right now. But at the same time, read the entries posted there and see the faith and the power of prayer that are so evident. It gives you hope that if something horrible happened, that that loved ones would help you pick up the pieces of your everyday life. They also show that people from a half a world away will take a moment and share their love and support for a stranger, all because of someone's blog they read that lead them there.

Kind of a strange post, but I feel like this is something I should do. It's not much, but a few more prayers and happy thoughts sent towards this amazing family can't hurt.

Random stuff

So, August has been a busy busy month. I want to blog about a lot of stuff, but I don't want to write it all out. So here it is, random, out-of-order style.

• Two weeks ago we went on vacation. Don't anyone fall over. We haven't gone anywhere (ANYWHERE) for over two years. It wasn't far, just 2 nights in Park City but they were so fun. It felt like we were far away. And the kids loved it. I might have Shane convinced that it is fun to go new places. The best part of Park City? Watching the All-around finals for gymnastics with Thomas. Everyone else was in bed. It was good mommy/son bonding. The worst part? My camera was dead. Zero pictures. Sucky.



• My neice and her husband and daughter visited a few weeks ago. I hadn't seen her in months and months, so I loved visiting with her at my sisters house. We had a little pool party, and it was so much fun. This is my favorite picture from the night. Don't you just love all our foreheads? :) And self portraits!

• Thomas started school last Monday. Wow, I have a second grader. Who knew?


• Then he turned 7 on Friday. Somehow I survived a friend birthday party AND a grandparent birthday party. Note to self: planning birthday parties makes you grumpy. Try to be better next time.


• I got a very, very nice email back from Jack. He was very kind and said he remembered me. It's nice to get stuff like that done sometimes, just to free up more space for other dumb things to worry about. Note to self: find someone else to worry about that you have offended for another 20 years. I'll get right on that, I'm sure.


• I ran 3 times last week. Who knew?


• And I just love this picture of Thomas at the piano. He's been taking lessons for the past few weeks. I love hearing the piano being played! It is a happy sound.

• And since this post has been all about Thomas, here are a couple of Benny, who was diagnosed with strep throat AFTER we spent the evening with our friends and their week-old baby. Sigh, what do you do? One minute they are fine, the next, well, they aren't.

• And check out this hot guy I found it Park City. I brought him home with me.

Better late then never

Remember that scene from Sleepless in Seattle when Meg Ryan wants to write the letter to Sam and she starts it out, "I have never written a letter like this before in my life!" and then her friend says, "Everyone starts out their letters to strangers like that."

Well, I wrote a letter like that today.

I wrote in my 100 things post about my gymnastics coach Jack. Well, I've been thinking a lot about that time in my life lately with the Olympics being on. Nastia Luikin reminds me of me. Not that I was ever, ever, EVER that good. Not that I would have been that good. But her high forhead, her long legs, her body type reminds me that I looked like that for a brief time (I still have the forehead, thank you very much.) So today, I googled Jack and found his gym in Arizona.

I found an email address. And I emailed him.

It was totally dorky. I put everything I could think that I would want to say to him in that email. I don't know if he will get it, but some of the things that I said have been bumping around in my brain for almost 20 years. I figured since I the opportunity, as sappy and dorky and whatever all else it may be, I should put it all in and send it off and not carry it around anymore. I even apologized for the whole ankle wrapping thing (blogiversary, #10.) He probably won't read it. It's even more likely that he'll never respond, because why would he ever remember me? But I knew I had the chance, so I took it.

It felt awesome. Nothing like getting a 20-year-old overdue thank-you card in the mail. I can cross that one off my list.

Where I brag about run-ins with famous gymnastics coaches

I’ve mentioned that I was a gymnast in one of my previous lives. It was something that I loved and hated all at the same time. I wasn’t really good at dealing with all the pressure. My favorite times were in the off-season when I could learn new tricks and enjoy my time a little more.

One spring, our gym hosted a meet that included some of the most talented up-and-coming stars of the day. It was 1986, so it wasn’t an Olympic year, so I’m not sure what exactly the meet would have been. It included gymnasts from all over the country, the ones who would be qualifying in 2 years to go to the games in Seoul, Korea. Among them were two heroes of the day, Kristie Phillips and Phoebe Mills, both of whom were coached by Bela Karolyi.

Now, remember that I didn’t deal well with pressure. Sure, I wasn’t competing (far from it, with my super-high tech tricks of the day being a back walkover on the beam, yee haw!), but I had been assigned to help for some of the events, meaning I would wait for scores to be written on a piece of paper by the judges and then post the score for each gymnast. Our coaches had warned us that we needed to conduct ourselves well, that we couldn’t mess around or do anything to disrupt the judges or gymnasts.

I didn’t sleep well the night before I was scheduled to help. I was nervous about seeing so many of my heroes, and terrified I would mess up in some stupid way that would get me in trouble.

The result of these nerves was that I woke up with a giant scratch running the length of my forehead (which, as my husband can attest, is quite an expanse). It was huge. I had to go and help that day, feeling like an idiot, with a big flaming scab adorning my face. Just exactly what I wanted for the big day.

In the gymnasts off-time, between sessions of meets and during warm ups and stuff, we had access to them. After the session I was assigned to help in, I went around with my friends and got autographs. One of the people that I ended up running into was Bela Karolyi himself. I asked him for his autograph, and he obliged. He looked at me and said, “Wow, a scratch!” and traced scratch on my forehead with his finger.

He then posed for what turned out to be a blurry photo of me and my sister Amy standing with an unidentifiable dark haired man. (Hey Amy, do you remember this? Any idea what happened to the photo?)

Last night, when Bela was talking with Bob Costas during the women’s team finals, I remembered having this picture taken. I remember wondering if he was as scary when angered as some of my coaches were. I wondered how he motivated so many gymnasts to excel so brilliantly. But mostly, I remember the kindness that he showed to a nervous kid.

I wish I had the photo. I’m sure it is lost in some box in my mother’s house (scary!). At least, with the blurriness, you probably can’t see my scratch. There are SOME small mercies, I guess.

So what memories of meeting famous people do you have?

Ben's bad day...

Remember my aversion to looking at my bleeding children's faces? Yeah. So yesterday at church I was chatting with a friend in the hall while my children played in one of the classrooms. Ben and Thomas were running up and down the rows of chairs, playing some game, when Ben decided to trip (he didn't really decide, but, well, it happened) and smash his face into one of the hard folding chairs. Blood started gushing not just from his face, but from that scariest-of-all-places for Becky, his mouth.

You would have been so proud of me. I stayed calm, held my hand over his bleeding mouth, and walked him to a nearby restroom. I got a wet papertowel to staunch the bleeding, and I comforted him all I could. A neighbor and her kids as well as Thomas' friends were gathered around, all worried about Benny's mouth.

And still, with all those people around, with my motherhood on display for so many, I chickened out at actually LOOKING into his mouth. I expressed my wimpiness out loud, and some lady that I don't even know came up, took Ben's face in her hands and looked calmly at his bleeding lip and *GASP* tooth. You know I was panicked, but I still didn't have the heart to survey the damage.

She said everything was fine.

Fortunately, the blood was slowing, but Ben was still unconsolable. I took him home; he cried the whole way, and as soon as was able, I got to Shane to take a more thorough exam of his mouth. By this time I could see from my cursory, wimpy glances that his tooth looked a little out of place and that his top lip was cut pretty good. Shane felt the tooth in question, which luckily was not loose, and declared him fine. Despite some dicomfort while eating, Ben was fine, and his tooth seems to be fine.

Whew. Got by on that one by the seat of my pants.

So then, the boys went fishing with Shane and our good friend John and his kids. They happened to catch a catfish, which apparently sport really sharp spines along their bodies. Well, not two seconds after John told all the children to not touch the fish, Ben grabs it, starts screaming, and holds up his bloody palm. Apparently his ears were just for show that day. Injury number two.

Later that night, we were getting ready for dinner, and Ben was playing on his bike, barefoot. Wouldn't you know it that he stubbed his toe on the patio stones. He comes into the house, screaming for me and a bandaid, holding up his bloody toe as proof that he is gravely injured.

Thank heaven for willing people to look in my children's mouths for dangling teeth, and for bandaids and all the rest of it. Needless to say, it wasn't one of Ben's best days.

Plus today, he's sporting a fat lip, thanks to the impact of hitting the chair with his face. I guess I just have to be grateful that everyday isn't like that! I wish I had a picture to share. It really is kind of cute, in a sad sort of way.

I don't know what happened to this post. I had 2 copies, then I deleted one & lost all my comments. For the people who made a comment before the delete, know that I read it & appreciated it. But I'll post this again, just so it is here.

When I was little, my Grandma Kay shopped at a store called Reams. The building that housed this grocery store had been a roller-skating rink in one of its past lives. It was a dome, with a lip that streamed up and down like a wave all around the outside of the building. At the parts where the wave went up, you had an entrance. I always, always wished I could ride on my roller skates up and down that wave. It just looked like too much fun. Of course, like most childhood fantasies, I was never able to do this. Plus, this was before we wore knee pads and helmets with our skates.

Anyhow. The first thing I remember smelling when entering Reams was the ice-cream counter. It was right up front; you could hardly walk in the store without running right into it. The smells all seemed to intermingle: chocolate and sherbet and waffle cones and vanilla all rolled into one. I couldn’t walk by without begging for a cone; I still can remember holding my ice cream, the chocolate sweetness streaming as my tongue tried to staunch its flow. Everything was right with the world when I was with my grandma it was hot and I was eating cold ice cream, my small chocolate spotted hand enveloped in her belovedly bony and liver spotted one.

I hadn’t thought about the Reams’ ice-cream counter in years, or even realized I had this memory until today when my coworkers and I took a trip down to the ice cream counter in our nearby mall.

My selection for today was rocky road. The flavor of almonds softened by chocolate ice cream and the smell of ice-cream-counter ice cream took me back to this memory so powerfully I almost looked around to find my Grandma. It made me miss her so much. I savored my rocky road a little more than I might have otherwise. My throat tightened a little thinking about her, and how long its been since I felt those hands and heard her kind voice.

I still miss her. I love you, Grandma.

The one where I admit I run in a skirt

Hello. My name is Becky, and I am a copycat, because now I own a running skirt.

When I read this article in Runner’s World last month, I decided I needed to jump on the bandwagon. After all, who doesn’t want to feel cute while getting all sweaty, right? Plus, one of my favorite writers about running, Kristen Armstrong, wrote the article after running actual races wearing running skirts. Why not? I figured I would take it all in stride (har, har), wear my running skirt with pride, and not think another moment about it. Me and the skirt would be BFFs.

After perusing a few online shopping sites, I decided I needed to try a skirt on before purchasing. After a week or two, I ended up finding a blue number on sale during the Nordstrom Anniversary sale. Yay for me.

That is, until I got home and read the tag that said “Tennis.”

Great, now I’m not only intending to run in a skirt (how inappropriate! says one part of my brain), but it’s a tennis skirt to boot. Shane had to make fun of me about that one.

Fast forward to my first run. Now, when I found this skirt on sale, they were a little limited in sizes. So I found one that felt a little big, but I thought it would be no big deal. I discovered later out that a little too big when you are bouncing along on a treadmill turns into a big deal. Every few steps I was pulling up the cute little number that didn’t feel like such a cute number while in motion. I admit that there may have been nearly-visible-coin-slot moments, which aren’t too fun while running. Can I say how grateful I am that I run on a treadmill in my safe cozy basement?

Friday I took my freshly laundered skirt and added a dart on the side. Then I added another dart on the other side. Then another in the back. I was hanging around my house for the afternoon, and figured I’d wear it while doing some cleaning to see if it stayed up better with the alterations.

Now, normally I don’t worry too much about how I look when cleaning. And I certainly wasn’t trying to be cute that day, just see if the skirt was functional. I’ve mopped my floor in nightgowns, pants, shorts, sweats, running SHORTS - you name it. I step out on my porch all the time wearing stuff that I probably shouldn’t without thinking twice. However, I noticed my piano teacher walking her children home from school as I was getting ready to put my rugs on the porch.

I waited to go out until she had passed my house, then I kind of shoved the rugs out the door, keeping it half closed. I admit I felt a little silly wearing a tennis-turned-running skirt. And I’m not 100% sure that I won’t feel the same way when I venture outside wearing it to run.

I’ve tried to reason the whole thing out. What is the difference? I wear shorts to run in all the time that aren’t any longer or shorter than said skirt. The leggings that are attached to the skirt make it incredibly modest (as long as it stays up, that is!). I’ve walked in my yard wearing my swimming suit skirt several times this summer without feeling the need to hide behind the door. So where is all this doubt coming from?

Maybe I relate more to this view of the running skirt. Ginny Graves had this dissenting view about her experience with running in a skirt:

“I put it on the next day before leashing up our two Australian shepherds for our usual five-mile loop on the fire road above our house. "How do you like my fancy new skirt?" I asked them as we headed out the door. They leapt joyously in the air. "Thanks, guys," I said.

Still, once we were outside, I felt surprisingly self-conscious, like I had worn a cocktail dress to a casual dinner party. My neighbor, who was out cleaning his bike, grinned and said, "Nice outfit." He meant it as a compliment, but I had an absurd urge to dash home and change.”

I had read this view of the skirt at the same time as Kristen’s. I think I see her point. I usually don’t care much when I’m running about what I look like, but wearing the skirt, even in the house, I think IT is cute, so maybe I transfer that to ME being cute, which translates in my head to maybe people thinking I’m TRYING to be cute which makes me uncomfortable. Am I running or putting on airs?

I’ll keep trying. It’s still too hot for me to go outside running. Maybe come fall, my favorite time of year to run, I’ll have worked out all the kinks of running in the skirt. I don’t know for sure. But I guess that’s where being a copycat gets me. Will I ever learn?