Making note...

...of the fact that I just went to Mi Cocina, sat on the patio, drank a margarita AND WISHED I HAD BROUGHT A SWEATER.

Seriously.  It is July 31st.  IN TEXAS.  The high was 86 today.

And tomorrow?  On August 1st?  Yeah...high is supposed to be in the low 80s.

Mind = BLOWN.

Why is my two year old crying...

Note:  He was really crying because I wouldn't let him run [in the parking lot at day care].  

Meanest mommy EV-VER.

Note to self: Next time just shut up...

Abby has been one of Banner's classmates since they were in the infant room back in 2012.  While the two of them are close, the same cannot be said of Abby's mother and I.  Why?  Because I am an idiot and have a tendency to make even the most pleasant of moments acutely awkward.

It's like my very own extremely undesirable superpower.

And nothing about today made that any less true.

See, Abby's mother is pregnant, and because pregnancy is such an iffy subject for me (despite all efforts to make it not so), I've avoid the topic altogether during our daily encounters in the hallway during pick up and drop off.  Because, although I'm (mostly) fine nowadays, there is still a part of me that can't help but continue to count down the days and weeks to what should have been.

I just can't seem to help it no matter how hard I try.

I'm still not sure how it started.  One minute Abby's mom and I were mindlessly chatting about a cranky Abby and hyperactive Banner, and the next she was telling me she was expecting a baby boy on October 5th.

And y'all?  It was like I was hit by a truck.  All the emotions I've kept so closely in check came welling up.  It happened suddenly, and I inhaled sharply.

It hurt so bad.  

Abby's mother looked at me curiously.  This was the moment that I should be congratulating her.

Instead?

Me:  "Sorry.  I mean, that's great.  It just that...well, I dunno.  I was also expecting a little boy in early October.  But...it wasn't meant to be, and...um, I'm fine.  We are fine.  Hopefully we'll get another chance someday, but...uh, yeah...I'm sorry.  It is just that they would have been the same age.  I really shouldn't be telling you any of this.  Who wants to hear about miscarriage, right?  It just surprised me, that's all.  The due date and gender, I mean.  I'm so sorry.  I should stop talking now.  Abby is so pretty, and you look great.  Have a great weekend."

This is going to get easier, right?

The results are in, and they are amazing...

The Awesome Pawsome

As you may remember, we did a DNA test on Gypsy earlier this year.  Her results can be found HERE.

For my birthday next month, I asked Trevor to get me a test for Haskell.  Because doggie DNA tests are like potato chips.  You can't test just one.  Especially when every mutt in the house presents its own four-legged mystery.

(Or something like that.)

Which (sort of) explains why Trevor threw a third test in the virtual cart for Alley, because he wanted in on the fun, too.  

I collected samples from Haskell and Alley back on July 7th, and we just got the results back today.  

Let's start with Alley Cat:

S'up?

We always kind of assumed Alley was some sort of pit bull mix, and...well, we weren't all that far off.  She is part American Staffordshire Terrier.

What we weren't expecting was this:  

She is also part Pom.  Because, I'm sorry.  What?

Alley is clearly much more mixed up than Gypsy, but - even though the test only goes back three generations - the results provide a good educated guess about the make-up of the remaining "mixed breed" relatives.  It is all about breed markers or something.  Anyway, in Alley's case,  the five breeds with the strongest statistical likelihood of having something to do with her ancestry are identified below:

Surprisingly, "seal" wasn't an option.

 Moving on to Haskell:

C'mon Maury Povich.  Tell me who my daddy is!

Ironically, he is the only one of the three that is bonafide a lab mix (lab and golden, actually).  Which is funny because if you throw a ball at the dog, it bounces off his head and he's all like, "What did you do that for?"

That said, years ago in Durango, Haskell somehow managed to catch a duck (he's obsessed with birds).  He very carefully picked it up in his mouth, swam across the pond (he rarely - if ever - swims), and placed the duck gently in my hands. It was like he knew that was what he was supposed to do. Of course, I was completely freaked out, because the poor duck! It was still alive. I actually don't think it was hurt badly at all, but died anyway. Poor thing was literally scared to death. Anyway, somewhere back in the deep, dark recesses of Haskell's brain, the lab/golden came out and my little idiot dog did exactly what his ancestors were bred to do.

Kind of cool, right?

But I digress.  Here is what goes into the making of a Haskell:

Told you he isn't part pig (TREVOR)!

But my FAVORITE part of his analysis is the "other" breeds that went into all of those mutts on the mixed-up side of his family tree.  Because the breed with the strongest statistical likelihood?  Yeah, a Chinese Crested.  Because OBVIOUSLY.

I've always thought he was a little dog trapped in a big dog body.
And he (sort of) is.  Because 3 of those 5 are wee little yappy things

I think the most surprising thing about the test results is that Gypsy, Alley and Haskell have nothing in common breed-wise, but look like they could be litter mates.  I find that fascinating.

(Although, I've always been easily amused.)

In other news, Wisdom Panel should totally take me to dinner, because of all the people that have told me they have ordered kits to test their mutt.  I can't recommend it enough!

Dallas Zoo...

What do you do when you are freshly recovered from food poisoning, wearing a heart monitor, and it is in the 70s at the end of July in Texas?  Yeah...you totally go to the zoo.

Then, you buy a membership because you look at the following pictures and want to duplicate the wonderful time you just had with your family over and over again.

Now, if only the weather will cooperate.

(Seriously.  The weather is freakishly awesome this summer.)

Too Hot To Handle and why I write about running...

So, Trevor and I ran the Too Hot To Handle on Sunday, and lived to tell about it.  He did the 5k, and I did the 15k because the 5k finishers didn't get a medal.  The Too Hot medals complete the Too Cold To Hold medals we got back in February, which is a stupid reason to run a nine mile race in July in Texas.  But then again, I've never claimed to be smart and have always been a little superstitious about finishing things I've started.

Plus, since I'm already missing a toenail (thanks to that half back in May), it isn't like like my feet can look much worse than they already do.

See?  It is like a giant BFF necklace.  Except I'm keeping both halves.
Because I earned them!

Anyway, I finished.  It was a lot easier than the Too Cold To Hold, which surprised me because yesterday was toasty.  I was hoping to finish in ninety minutes, but it took me closer to an hour and forty-five minutes.  At first this really disappointed me, but then I remembered that I forced myself to stop at every single water stop along the way.  Because even though the race started at 7:30 AM, it wasn't like it was getting any cooler.  In fact, yesterday ended up being our first triple digit day of the season.  Not that it was 100 degrees when I was running, mind you.  But it was in the 80s, and stopping to hydrate seemed like a necessary evil because OMG, THE SUN.

In other news, I always kind of feel weird about blogging about the races I run, because it feels very boastful.  Like, look at me!  I ran all the miles!  But that's not really my point at all.  I write about running because I like to document things.  Especially, things that challenge me, or things that I said I would never do (like running a race in the middle of summer).  But I also do so as a reminder that my body almost always does what I ask.  

See, I'm a big girl.  I've always been a big girl.  Part of it is because I'm 5'10.  Part of it involves my bones and genetics.  And part of it is because I have the metabolism of a turtle.  I don't lose weight.  I'm lucky if I can maintain my current weight, and well...since the miscarriage I've actually gained weight.  Which sucks because I've been eating well (as in "healthy" not "a lot"), running and circuit training in addition to every thing else (like chasing a two year old, gardening and three dogs).  I'm also very competitive and have a tendency to overdo the training, which - on occasion - has lead to weird injuries (my foot) and even illness.

Granted, there is probably a hormonal component to the weight gain.  I retain water like a sponge, especially in recent months.  But I can't tell you how emotionally devastating it is to run a race and actually GAIN WEIGHT.  Especially when your calorie burn is this:

  

And the thing is, I know that the number on the scale is just a number.  People keep telling me that it looks like I've lost weight, and I can't help but beat myself up because I know it isn't true.  

 

I'm healthy.  My blood work (except for a Vitamin D deficiency), blood pressure and cholesterol is perfect.  I take no medication except vitamins, and Nasonex (if I remember) for seasonal allergies. That should be enough.

I can run for hours, and leg and bench press more than most women (and even some men).  That should be enough.

My body has given me a healthy son.  That should be enough.

Trevor loves me the way I am, and that should be enough.

And, yet, I look at the image below and all I see is FAT.

Lining up moments before the race began. Trevor loves this photo.  I hate it.
Because arm flab and tan lines! And OMG, is that a fat roll under my boobs?!

Trevor also took a video of me finishing the race yesterday.  I finished strong; picked up the pace for the last mile and even sprinted the last stretch.  But all I could see was my wide hips, big a$$ and thunder thighs jiggling in overworked spandex as I ran past the camera.

Why?  Why do I do this?  Why do I think these things about myself?

I know it has something to do with the media, and wishing I weighed 125 (or even 150.  Hell, I'd take 175).  I'm guessing it also has something to do with losing 80 pounds in high school and being ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED of being that big again.  It may even have something to do with the miscarriage and wanting my body to be in good shape if/when we attempt to have another baby.

Whatever it is, no matter what I do, I cannot seem to muster a positive self image.  Which probably explains why we don't have a single full length mirror in our house.

Anyway, these blog posts about the races I've run?  They are the only place I give my body the credit it deserves.  Because it is far from perfect, but it gets the job done.  I'm not running marathons by any means, but I'm getting across my own finish lines with energy to spare.  Regardless of what the (effing) scale says.

That's something, right?

And while I'm confessing the true meaning behind some of my posts.  THIS ONE?  I wasn't really ready to donate my hair, but I started to shed about a month after the D&C and simply couldn't take it any more.  Like I hadn't already lost enough and now my hair was falling out.  For reasons I don't understand, I've felt guilty about not explaining that since April.  Maybe because my reasons for donating my hair weren't as simple as not getting a hair cut for eighteen months?  Maybe because I was forcing the smile in those stupid selfies?  I don't know, but there you go.  

But running with shorter hair?  Much better.

Story of my life...

I was duped Tuesday night.

I was lured into "dinner and a movie" with the promise of, "Sure.  I'll see The Fault In Our Stars.  I'm always picking the movie.  It is your turn."

And when it came time to purchase tickets?  Yeah.  This happened:

Trevor:  "Oh, no!  The last showing of The Fault In Our Stars was at 3 PM.  Guess we will just have to go see Snowpiercer."

Because OBVIOUSLY.

But it is okay, because this happened this morning:

Payback's a b*tch.  ;P

UPDATE:  Went to Half Price Books today (Monday) for some new reading material, and this is what Banner picked out.  I didn't influence him or anything.  Honest.  In fact, I didn't even see it on the display until he ran over to pick it up.

Trevor's response?  Buy as many Spiderman books as you can carry.

I didn't end up buying Ban the Barbie Dream House book, but only because we hit Thomas the Train pay dirt.  Not because I care about enforcing ridiculous socially constructed gender roles.  Banner is 2.5, after all!

#whocaresifhelikesBarbie

Wait. What?

Me:  "Banner picked his outfit today.  Bright green pants, blue shirt and red shoes.  You won't lose him.  He is too brightly colored."

Teacher:  "Oh, we could never lose Banner.  He is always growling and roaring at the other children."

I later learned that Banner is REALLY into dinosaurs.  Which I already knew, because of the 30 some odd episodes of Dinosaur Train currently on my DVR.  Because TRAINS!  DINOSAURS!  But roaring at the other children?  That's new.

(Boys are so weird.)

This video has nothing to do with growling or roaring, 

but you can see the outfit in question.

Fourth Recap...

It is sort of anticlimactic to discuss what we did on the Fourth, because we did the SAME THING this year that we did in 2012 and 2013.  Not that I would change a thing, mind you.  I'm a sucker for routine.  Plus, it is such a delight watching Banner enjoy the exact same parade and fireworks show that I did at his age.

Sometimes is the simple little things.  Probably why the Fourth of July has always been one of my favorite holidays.  Just good ole fashion summer fun with friends and family.

Anyway, I won't bore you with too many details.  Just a million and a half photographic memories of Banner's third half birthday:

Business as usual...

Waiting for the parade to begin.

Two year olds get a lot of candy tossed their way.  Especially
when they have a sassy fifteen month, female sidekick named Eva.

Have I mentioned that he has A LOT of energy?

Paw-Paw Mint.

CEO, Uncle Yum and Jeep.

Lady Loraine and the FABULOUS Auntie Mimi.

Rachel and Neighbor Becky.

So, yeah.  Catching isn't his best skill.  But to Banner's credit, he keeps trying.

Because being two means you gotta
pull the Dragon Wagon "myself".

After the parade, we returned home so Banner could open his half birthday presents from Jeep:

He is finally getting the hang of opening presents.

Present time was followed by "quiet time".  Little man keeps threatening to drop his nap, but we strictly enforce quiet time because...well, mama and daddy NEED a nap, even if Banner (*thinks* he) doesn't.

We were supposed to meet at my dad's house a little before 5 PM, but were delayed by a stray storm.  Lots of thunder and lightening at our house, but NO RAIN.  A mile away at my sister's house, though?  DOWNPOUR.  Abrams and Mockingbird?  HAIL.  Skillman and Mockingbird?  FLOODED STREETS.  75 and Mockingbird?  SUNSHINE AND RAINBOWS.

For those of you not familiar with Dallas, I live exactly 6.1 miles from my dad, and four miles from 75 and Mockingbird.  So we are talking about a pretty bad a$$ thunderstorm that was less than three miles wide.

Here's a visual (photos taken less than five minutes apart) on Mockingbird:

The weirdest thing is that the storm NEVER crossed 75, and everyone we spoke to that evening was like, "What do you mean it rained today"?

Of course, it would have been a better story if it had actually rained at my house, because I'm all about free water in July.

Anyway, back to the festivities, Banner was a HUGE fan of the band at the club this year.  During their break between sets, he even went and found them drinking coffee and sat down like he was one of the guys.

Number ONE fan.

We weren't sure we were going to be able to see the fireworks because
little groupie didn't want to leave the stage and his new buddies.

But after a few rounds of peek-a-boo, and the promise of another band outside (I kid you not, he ended up on stage!), we were successful in getting him outside.

A rare family photo before the fireworks began.

I may love this photo more than THIS ONE taken last year.

Hope everyone had a fantastic holiday!