Art and Caring

The Friday after Thanksgiving we went to the Walker Art Center with the kids. They had some cool exhibitions that I thought the kids could understand and enjoy and that I really wanted to see. For those of you not familiar, the Walker is the more modern and contemporary of the major art museums in Minneapolis. It has this great sculpture garden that is fun to run around in.

Here is some of the stuff we saw in the sculpture garden.


(A is trying to explain something, I am trying to imagine myself somewhere.)


My family. And me.














(There has been a lot of sex had in that spoon - just so you know. Not ever by me you sickos.)

They also have a small conservatory with a big Frank Gehry glass fish. I also liked the hibiscus.





Walking back to the car E comes running up to me asking for money. I turn back to her and say in my typically irritated tone of voice, "What do you need money for, now?" She lowered her head and in her soft voice said, "There is a sleeping bag back there tucked under the bushes. Mom says that it belongs to a homeless person and I want to leave him a surprise to make him feel better."

For a kid who is constantly bugging for a mobile phone, an iPod touch and Ugg boots I was surprised she would take the chance to ask me - Mr. No! - for money after all the hell I give her. She knew this was important though. I realized I constantly underestimate my kids' abilities to be compassionate and empathetic. I also realized that I underestimate A and my abilities to raise wonderful, caring kids. At this point in our lives we seem to be doing a pretty good job. (I hope that doesn't sound self-congratulatory, it certainly wasn't meant to.)

I gave her the $23 dollars I had in my pocket and she went running back to the bushes. "Just make sure there's no one in that sleeping bag before you put your hand in there!" Hey, I'm overly cautious as well. What can I say?

The Greatest Story Ever Written

F came home with a story he wrote last week. I am rather shocked by how good it is.

The Legendary Sword
Once there was a sword a
legendary sword. A long time ago
a man named Terrace found the
sword! But...
...trouble came. Giant mushrooms
with a goblen with a
crossbow! He went into the
portal and he returned to town.
He showed the sword to his
mom and dad "wow"! they said
(by the way this was made in
mideval times) He showed
everyone in town and went
to bed.

Although impressed, I also have some issues with this fine piece of 2nd grade amateur literature.

I have to admit to a sneaking suspicion of plagiarism, but that's only because I had no idea the kid had it in him - if it's true.

His punctuation is for shit. I mean really, use a comma once in awhile.

Who names their kid "Terrace?" I know these are "mideval times" and all, but why name your kid after an architectural detail? They might as well have named him "Lanai."

This story has more holes in it than Swiss cheese.

Then the "trouble" came in the form of giant mushrooms and a "goblen?" What, was the land dark and covered in a thick layer of shit? Where the hell do the mushrooms come in? And what kind of mushrooms? Poisonous? Hallucinogenic? If the were hallucinogenic that would totally explain the "portal." And that would make for an awesome story!

And what kind of ungrateful parents does "Terrace" have? The guy slogs through a world of shit that breeds mushrooms and an armed "goblen" and then goes through a "portal" and returns with this kick-ass "legendary sword" (if that illustration is any indication, that is one bad-ass mofo of a "legendary sword") and all mom and dad can say is "wow!" Not even "Wow!" or "WOW!" Those parents have some pretty high standards especially considering they saddled their son with a fancy name for a deck.

Then, to curry favor with the townsfolk he showed them all his "legendary sword" and we can only assume that they were as underwhelmed as mom and dad, so he just said "screw it" and went to bed. What? Really? Maybe he needed to sleep off his magic mushroom portal trip and he just couldn't deal. Who knows.

Meanwhile, we can only assume that the "goblen" is traipsing around the countryside with his cross-bow all tripped out on hallucinogenic magic mushrooms and wreaking all kinds of havoc. The kid really needs to figure out how to resolve all these plot holes if he ever wants to make it to 3rd grade.

But, perhaps I am selling my son short. Perhaps this story is a cry for help. It is very possible that this is a thinly veiled plea for positive affirmation and recognition that he does a good job using a knife and fork at dinner and goes to bed on time.

"Terrace" - the hero - is most assuredly, F. The "goblen" could be his sister and the "cross-bow" might represent the withering way she talks to him sometimes. The disaffected mom and dad - that is so transparent. Obviously it represents his mother (I am not sure why I am not represented in the story, but I suspect I am the unnamed deity that protects him from harm and leads him to the "legendary sword." I could also be the "mushrooms" because I am kept in the dark and fed bullshit.) The "town" is a melding of his mother and sister as they sit at the dinner table and their unimpressive reaction to his skillful use of eating utensils. (I usually stand in the kitchen and eat so I can't be included in that miserable hoard of "townsfolk.") The "legendary sword" is a representation of all eating utensils. "Bed?" Well, that is just bed. Duh.

So there are two ways to look at this. I guess I could look at it other ways, but you are all already bored out of your minds or incensed at the hardheartedness of my wife toward our son and so overcome with admiration for my incredible parenting prowess, that I will leave it at two.

Pedicures, Training and Racing

Last weekend was a fairly big training weekend for me. With no marathon training necessary, I changed my Saturday run to a Saturday brick - the first one of the season and long overdue. I rode the only route I am comfortable with these days (I am such a wuss) but it incorporates a loop of nice hills - so I did the loop five times. Total mileage was only about 34 miles, but with the hills it counts for more. (Right? That and dragging my lard-ass around, that counts for more, too. Right? You people need to cut a guy a break.)  Below are the profiles from my bike. You can really see the profile of the hills - both by elevation and heart rate. Kind of crazy.

I rode home and had all my running stuff laid out and quickly got off the bike and into running attire. I decided to run sans socks knowing I would more than likely get some rubbing somewhere from my fairly new shoes. It started almost immediately, but it never got very bad. It was rubbing right under my ankle bone on both feet. Better to find out now and be able to lube it up than to find out during a race. My legs felt crazy-weird. I don't remember them feeling quite so weird last year, but I also don't think I hammered a bunch of hills and then decided to run. 

The run really went pretty well. I was clicking along pretty comfortably at a 7:30 pace (yes, I know I am not setting the world ablaze with my speed.) Four miles in just over 30 minutes. Now, I have been working on my running economy lately. I am a natural forefoot striker/very mild supinator so I have been working to take advantage of my natural gait and trying to become more efficient. I concentrate on not over-striding (which I used to do last year) and keeping my feet underneath me, staying light on my feet with a quick consistent turnover. It seems to really be helping as evidenced by my fast half-marathon and my consistent marathon recently. It really made a big difference on the brick as I don't know if I could have run that pace at that effort last year. I am probably doing way better than I figure I am.

The rest of Saturday was super lazy. We had no plans. We got outside and did a bunch of work in the yard and played with the dog and the kids. A decided that she needed a pedicure so she went up to the little Vietnamese nail place in the neighborhood. E decided she wanted to go with. I thought E was just going to hang out and talk while A got her toes painted. E came home with this.

This is cute on so many levels. First, the color she chose is the most attention-getting green. Second, she got a flower added to her big toes and third, she has the cutest little sausage toes ever. (The pictures are slightly out of focus because E took them herself and couldn't stop laughing.) She has been wearing flip flops everywhere to show them off.

My first race of the year is on Saturday and now I am having all sorts of anxiety. I am a middle of the pack age group type guy (OK, maybe more first quarter of the pack, but still) so it's not like I have a whole lot of pressure to "win." I do want to go faster and by "faster" I mean "fas-ter". I just hope I have enough bike legs and run legs - I should have more than last year just by virtue of experience and additional training. We have yet to get out for an open water swim this year and I am somewhat concerned about that, but not too much. It will be a wetsuit legal swim, I should be able to go sleeveless and the swim course is a point-to-point with the beach to the right the whole way. Since this is a sprint I have been paring down the crap on my bike. I switched to the small Fizik bag that clips to my Fizik saddle. Lost the seat mounted water bottle holders and will probably ditch the bento box in favor of tape or carrying gels in a pocket. I want transition to be simple and fast, but I have yet to practice a bike mount. Maybe Wednesday. Anything will be better than last year when I put on socks because I hadn't run without them at all and I had just put my aero bars on an wasn't comfortable with them so I was only in the drops. I also ran in my bike shoes in transition instead of leaving them on the pedals. Novice!

Today was the third day of Masters at the outdoor LCM pool. Monday is distance day so we had a bunch of 200's. I am feeling better, although I was just hanging on at the end. I have put myself in the fast guy lane and have been brining up the rear, but not out of touch with the super-fast leaders. These guys are younger and they are "swimmers". I don't hear much talk about marathons or tris from these guys, so I guess I should feel good about my situation. I hope each session gets better - I'll keep working at it. 

This week looks a little rainy, but I will need to get on the bike - I can run and swim in rain, no problem. Saturday is supposed to be sunny and clear if not a little warm. It should be a beautiful day to race - I hope the weather man gets the forecast right. Off to bed - run tomorrow.

Busy Friday

I am looking at a busy Friday. I just got home from Master's Swimming. Not many people in the pool today. It was "Sprint Friday" - as it is every Friday - but we had a substitute coach. To make things interesting he threw in eight 50 yard sprints off the blocks. I can not remember the last time I started off blocks. The skills - or lack there of - came back no problem. I didn't lose my goggles or "hurt myself" (some guys might know what I mean) and I did alright. 2,800 mostly sprint yards done. 

Now, I have typical morning stuff to do - shower, pick up the house, walk the dog, return emails, etc. This afternoon is atypical. 

E's birthday is next week - St. Patty's Day - but we are celebrating it today. F's birthday is eight days later, as soon as they were old enough to understand we established a policy of alternating big birthday parties. This year is E's - she chose snow tubing. When she first suggested this, I groaned. The last thing I want to do is freeze my butt off in the middle of March. It is actually turning out to be a good day for it. It will be sunny and "warm" (37 degrees) and outside and not in my house. The snow tubing is at a local ski hill and they have sculpted lanes, big inner tubes with nylon sleeves over them and a tow rope that drags you up the hill. We have been before - it really is a lot of fun. Only problem for me is that it involves 20 third grade girls. Ever been around ten third grade girls? Well, past that number each additional girl is a factor of ten, so we might as well have like 1,000 third grade girls attending. (Somebody can correct my math there. Remember - Interior Designer NOT Architect.) They are all so screechy and loud. 

We are probably the worst birthday party throwers ever. This year - NO GIFTS - the girls are told to bring a new book to donate to the school library. We DO NOT need more crap in our house. We also do not do gift bags. This is just a personal preference and not meant as a knock on other families, but why do I have to give your kid a bunch of crap for attending my kid's birthday party? Your kid just got to have all sorts of fun, eat cake, drink juice and be out of your hair for a couple hours - I think that is enough of a payment. (Really, the reason is because I am lazy and I don't like to do that crafty kind of crap.)

Before we get to the hill I have to pick up the cake (which is actually three GIANT chocolate chip cookies) and all the treats and drinks and beer for A. (It's how she copes - not really, that makes her sound like she has a drinking problem. And let me tell you, she has NO problem drinking.) So the afternoon has me running around. I am hoping for an early night - I have 16 - 18 miles to run tomorrow morning. Ready, set, Go!

Happy Balentime's Day!

I try to get my kids to talk wrong but, they are way too smart. "Dad! It's not 'Balentime's', it's 'Val-en-tine's Day!" "Dad! It's not 'punkin', it's 'pump-kin pie!" "Dad! It's not 'samich', it's 'sand-wich!" FINE, whatever, you little ingrates. 

My day started out with a leisurely 10 1/2 miler. I was going to add 2 more, but discretion prevailed and it was a good decision. My calves are finally feeling normal (I think it was from tensing/clenching on the glare ice that was everywhere) and it was best not to push it. I will add a couple miles next Saturday instead. 

I came home to my kids eating a breakfast of - what? - giant, heart shaped -- no, not pancakes or omelets or french toast with a heart-shaped hole punched in the middle and a fried egg in the hole (thanks MS) -- thickly frosted sugar cookies. Really!? Really! Aghast, I inquired to my lovely wife what the hell is going on here. A's response, "Oh, honey, it's OK. I said they could and they also have some cheddar cheese and milk." Breakfast of champions?

Apparently F has recovered fully from the barfy stomach bug he woke up with yesterday. We were awoken at 5 AM by F - "Mom, I'm hungry." "Go downstairs, Dad will be right down to get you something." I head downstairs to find F with his head in the toilet, heaving. I yell back up the stairs, "Honey, F isn't hungry. He's puking." I come back to the bathroom and he is standing there peeing and then suddenly he is back with his head in the toilet. "Geeze, kid. Flush one of those things down. Now, go wash and sanitize your hands."

How not to parent

"Dirty Skirt" lost her nomination for parent of the year.  Last Saturday her five-year-old son broke his tibia (the big shin bone) straight through about three inches above his ankle.  He was pillow surfing down their main steps while mom and dad were in the kitchen cooking up a batch of meth.  That last part was a lie - apparently mom and dad were in the kitchen "drying dishes".  Call it what you will - the kids were unsupervised.  None of this disqualifies anyone from parent of the year.  

The poor kid had surgery to reset his bone and is now home and in so much pain he can't be moved.  "Dirty's" family has just bought a new house and is still in the process of selling their current home so they are hyper vigilant of making any sort of mess in case they have to show it.  Her son has finally gotten to the point where he can sit in his wheelchair (it just gets better and better) and move around some.  

Yesterday, the kid is finally mobile but still learning to drive and he kept bumping into the walls.  "Dirty" finally got fed up and admonished the kid - "If you don't stop running into the walls I will take away your wheelchair."  

Cross her off the ballot!

I am incredibly gifted/I have no idea what I am doing

** I just came across this unfinished draft - I am sure I was going to follow up with some screaming fit the kids had after such a glorious day, but I thought it was worth posting even if incomplete. **

I sit here basking  in what might be my most glorious day as a parent of a six and eight year old.  A had to work on Sunday so it was a "daddy day".  It was a glum, cloudy fall-ish day.  The kind of day where you want to curl up on the couch and watch football all day.  Or at least that is what I wanted to do.  A was having a bunch of friends over on Monday for coffee, so I had to make sure the house was picked up.  I definitely was not picked up when she left. 

After a leisurely morning of cartoons and computer games for the kids (usual for a "daddy day") it was time to get the day rolling.  I don't enjoy cooking.  I grew up mostly on dry cereal for breakfast, served to myself with way too much sugar.  Therefore, my preference is to go out for breakfast or brunch with the kids.  Off we go to Bruegger's for bagels, smoothies and coffee.  F asked if he could bring a book with. "Sure" - "Can I bring it in?" - "Sure" - "Can I read it in the car?" - "Sure".  What? No Legos?! No Nintendo?! No old, dirty rope?! E chimes in.  "Can I help F with the hard words?" - "Sure".  Oh my god, who kidnapped my children and replaced them with these bizarre creatures? 

In the car I gave my usual stern lecture regarding how to behave in a restaurant and how if they didn't behave they would lose privledges and I would be angry (or angrier).  "OK - Can we keep reading?"  Once in the restaurant I suggested they choose their seat and wait quietly while I stand in line and order.  They run to our usual spot and slide in to the booth next to each other.  As I get in line, I look over expecting to see punching, scratching, hair pulling or crawling on, over, around or under the table.  But what to my wondering eyes do I see?  The two of them reading - E patiently, calmly, quietly helping F with the "hard" words.  I am amongst the greatest parents, EVER!

It might be a bad sign when the kids' "usual" is so unique (and mildly disgusting) that you are recognized for it.  (The usual is a cinnimon sugar bagel with strawberry cream cheese and - wait for it - sliced turkey.)