Musing and Running

For those of you living under a rock, I've recently (well, since Easter) started training for a half-marathon. Why? Because I'm a sucker. My sister told me to, and I said ok. Seriously. That's all it took.

So, three nights a week, I hit the sidewalks in an ever-widening route around my house and try to improve my endurance and pace. I have an app on my iPhone that tells me when to run and walk, and I listen to my iTunes for upbeat music or an intriguing book. But sometimes, I am ill-prepared and my battery dies prematurely. Which sucks. So my mind wanders.

My route meanders through Overland Park and Prairie Village. Now, Overland Park used to be THE place to live. That distinction has now drifted east and north to Prairie Village. And no one's really interested in taking the title back.

Don't get me wrong, Overland Park is an excellent neighborhood. It's safe and clean and pleasant. Here's the difference. I saw a sign that proudly proclaimed:

Prairie Village Homes' Assoc

HOME OF THE

MONTH

Wow. And my first thought was, "I bet they've had that honor a few months in a row. Heh, heh, heh." But then I looked around. And that neighborhood was pristine. Like, they would kick us and our unruly children out. Swimsuits on the clothesline? I think not! Bikes on the patio? Disgusting! Grass not mowed four times a week in a rotating pattern with a highly maintained machine? The horror! I sped up a little. I was nowhere near dressed appropriately to be running through Prairie Village that evening.

My favorite night to run on? Trash night. I just love dodging ginormous trash cans, swarming with flies and sucking in that smell that can only come from a trash can. Love it. One time, I almost threw up. Speaking of smells, there's that house that you can tell is cleaned obsessively, as it smells like fresh laundry. From the sidewalk. Poor woman.

Then there's the house with the overgrown yard, no landscaping to speak of and no personality. And there in the driveway is a shiny, new truck that you know is someone's baby. That's a young homeowner.

The house with a perfectly manicured lawn, nurtured landscaping and artful additions to the house. Haphazardly parked in the driveway is a land boat that is no one's baby. That's an old homeowner.

With all this judgement, I wonder, what do people think of me based on my house? With it's overgrown lawn, toys strewn about, unwashed vehicles and overgrown landscaping. Hopefully, they see a family with active, little ones and therefore no spare time. They see a Daddy that spends time playing with his kiddos instead of obsessing over the lawn. They see......

Ok, ok. We need to spend a little more time in the yard.

I'll get Branden right on that.

World Trade Center

Through the steam of my coffee this morning, I heard the news anchor mention the fire station at 75th and Conser. That's right around the corner from my house, so I perked up and paid attention. They went on to report that an I-beam from the World Trade Center would be making it's way from the fire station at 75th and Conser down Metcalf Ave to the Sprint Campus for a ceremony before being memorialized in a fire training center. I thought that might be neat to see. Plus, it was on the news, so it was kind of important, maybe someone would want to interview me and my adorable children!

Alas, I did not have time to shower, but I did freshen my makeup. (I realized the foolishness of this when I stepped out into the 90 degree heat, but it never hurts to be prepared. I'm always surprised at the people that don't take the time for that. There was a shooting? Comb your hair! Witness a robbery? Put on a nicer shirt! Anyway, it turned out to be a moot point.)

Since it would pass by on Metcalf, a mere half-block away, I loaded the babies in the wagon and made sure everyone had a water. We made our way up the street, found a nice shady spot, and waited. And waited. And waited. I should have taken into account that I was going to be following the schedule of firefighters. They must have taken a call. Fortunately, the kids did pretty well.

And no, there was no one that wanted to interview us. In fact, there was no one there waiting to see this piece of history drive by. I'm sure I looked like a fool. (And for those of you not in the loop, I still only have three children! The little girl with no hair-and therefore not a Connelly- is my darling niece, Teagen!)

Finally, the procession topped the hill. First came the motorcycle escort.

This most impressed McKenna. After she got over the fact that we were NOT going to McDonald's!

The motorcycles were followed by the firetruck. I wish it had turned it's sirens on. Or it's lights. Something. But Madelynn thought it was cool. She waved-very enthusiastically. Nothing.

And finally, the semi.

It was a quick, little moment. And I admit, I got a little choked up.

I lived on the east coast, in Baltimore during September 2001. My friend worked near the Pentagon and I was downtown that day. I'd been to New York City for shopping and sightseeing several times and knew a few people that lived there. So, this terrible event in history was far more personal for me than a lot of my neighbors here in the midwest.

I am thankful that I got the chance to stand on the side of the road, looking like a fool and pay my respects to that hunk of steel as it made it's way slowly past.

Recapturing My Youth

I'm throwing my reputation to the wind. I'm announcing to the world, in the face of potential criticism, that I am in fact, a Backstreet Boys fan. A fan that has attended many concerts and purchased all their albums. I even have a playlist of my favorites on my iPhone right now. It makes great running music. Except when you try to recreate their dance moves. While you're running. Not graceful.

Imagine my excitement when I discovered that NKOTBSB (New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys) would be in concert in Kansas City! My mother, sister and I promptly bought tickets. Months in advance.

We planned our evening meticulously. We met for dinner beforehand and enjoyed a pitcher of sangria. This only served to make myself more hilarious. The buzz totally wore off before the concert. Which made parking interesting.

As we made our way to the Sprint Center, along with thousands of other soccer moms, I was amazed at the shirts I saw. New Kids bedsheets made into skirts, offers of free physicals for members of the band and even bachelorette parties offering the "boys" a last chance!

Up the hideously long escalator we went. Found our section and row (only two away from the back of the stadium!) and settled in for the fun. But settling in carefully was in order. The top section at the Sprint Center is not for everyone. It is so steep that when you lean back in your seat, you can look straight down to the stage. No leaning forward necessary. Did I mention it was steep? Well, it was too steep for mom. So I accompanied her to Guest Services and we explained. They must be used to hearing this, because she handed over two lower seat tickets without much more explanation. Which was awesome for mom and I, but sucked for the remaining 4 in our party. Which included my sister.

After walking around the entire Sprint Center, we realized that there were no down escalators and had to take the stairs. Whoops. So Mom and I sat and enjoyed our seats (only 3 rows up from the floor and we had CUP HOLDERS, people!) I did not look around and want to throw up from the vertigo associated with the heights. But the guilt finally got me. So we trudged back up to Guest Services to beg for four more tickets to the lower section. On our way up to the window, I coached my mom.

"Make sure you thank them for the new seats. Gratitude goes a long way in softening hard hearts. And tell them you're seperated from your daughter. Use tears if necessary!" And she did great! The lady looked at her for a minute, and then started shuffling through her stacks of tickets. Done, deal!

So we moved everyone down to the lower section where we had the whole row to spread out and enjoy! It was awesome!

This is a picture from our new, better seats. Doesn't Mom look thrilled?!?! That would be our previous seats up there above the word "advised". All the way to the top. Scary, huh?

This is how thrilled we were to be together. Ok, that's a lie. We're just really stoked for the concert! It's almost time, baby!

And so it begins. The stage was pretty elaborate. And awesome. I screamed like a teenage girl.

Here's my boys! I don't care what you say, if Branden wore a white suit, I'd pretty much be at his beck and call. Or I'd melt.

At every concert, the Backstreet Boys always pick girls from the crowd and serenade them. Brian Littrell (the guy in front) picked two little girls to sing to. Probably because he's a daddy now. It was pretty cute.

I've always admired the composure of these girls that are chosen. I think I'd be so overwhelmed, that I would cry hysterically and just ruin the song.

They finished the serenade in classic style. Again with the melting. I know, I'm pathetic. It was wonderful!

And finally, a still picture of the dancing. I can get down with the dancing. Wish I could do the dancing, but I've tried that route. It isn't pretty. Perhaps that's why I admire such talent. Because I have none.

 And so, another Backstreet Boys concert is in the books. But here's a thought for you. At the finale, when the confetti cannons went off and everyone was screaming, my first thought was, "Man, that's gonna suck to clean up." Hmmm...

I don't think I'm going too far out on a limb when I muse that recapturing my youth is fun for an evening, but I kinda like where I've ended up. It was nice to come home and gush to my hubby and kiss my babies good night.

But don't count me out for the next tour! Backstreet's Back!

Special Time with Mommy

To create a stronger bond with my daughters, I have created "Special Time with Mommy". Every Tuesday evening, one of the girls and I leave Daddy with the other two children and go shopping. Then, the following week, roles reverse. We have dinner together and then get groceries. It's usually fast food, but we always go in and sit down to eat and talk about things. I've discovered that without the influence of their sister, the girls' individual personalities just shine. It just makes grocery shopping a lot more fun and a lot less of a chore!

Tonight's adventure is most certainly worth sharing.

Madelynn and I headed out with our reusable shopping bags and grocery money in hand. We stopped at Aldi's first, where Madelynn was in charge of driving the shopping cart. It was entertaining watching her steer and drive a metal cart that was 6" taller than her!
"But, what if I crash into something, Mom?" she asked.
"Well, you'll be done pushing the cart." I told her.
The next aisle over, there were two college girls debating over shells and cheese or macaroni and cheese. Really? They were right in Madelynn's path.
"Mom, what if I crash into that lady?"
"You will apologize and definitely be done pushing the cart."
She very slowly, and very carefully manoeuvred around the girls. I was kind of hoping she'd nick one of 'em.

After Aldi's, we loaded up (Madelynn got to keep the quarter!) and headed to McDonald's. We went in and ordered, with Madelynn bravely telling the cashier which toy she wanted. When we sat down to eat, I asked Madelynn if she wanted to pray. She serenely folded her hands and sang (to the tune of Frerre Jacques):
"God our Father, God our Father
Once again, once again
We shall ask your blessing
We shall ask your blessing
Amen Amen"
Now, if you've never heard Madelynn's "beautiful voice", this won't seem like a big deal. Oh, but it is. She gets very serious and has this old-person-operatic-vibrato to her voice. It's so darn hard not to laugh. And there in McDonald's (interesting side note: every time I go to type McDonald's, my fingers default to McKenna and I have to delete and retype. Thought you'd like to know) I was indeed trying my hardest not to laugh out loud.
After dinner, which included an introduction to the deliciousness that is french fries and a vanilla milkshake, a lady from a couple tables down came over to talk to Madelynn. She complemented her on her beautiful voice and asked her if she sang in church. Madelynn looked at me like "Doesn't everyone sing in church?". This lady went on to say that one day, when Madelynn was a famous singer that she would remember she heard her sing her prayers when she was a little girl.
To finish out our evening, we went to Walmart to pick up a few more things. As we were leaving, Madelynn spied the arcade-ish room and wanted to spend her Aldi's quarter. We chose the Claw machine (Play til you win!) and guided that little claw til a prize bubble popped out. What was inside? A fake mustache. Yep. She wore it with pride!

Love,
A

It's the Thought that Counts!

It was a busy morning. Too busy for me to get in the shower. Well, that's pretty much every morning. For some reason, I put off the shower until I have to, unless we're going somewhere. Which means I'm usually surprised, make that mortified, when unexpected visitors show up. The poor UPS guy. But that's another post.

On the morning in question, I had dressed the girls and sent them outside to play. I was doing chores when I heard two little soprano voices yelling, "Mommy, we picked you some flowers!" These bouquets often consist of a raggly-taggly bunch of wildflowers, with the clods of dirt still hanging precariously from their roots. So I pasted a thankful smile on my face and mentally searched for an appropriate container to put them in water. I looked and the door and gasped in horror.

These are the flowers they picked.

That's right. NOT wildflowers. These are groomed, very meticulously I might add, in the backyard adjacent to our backyard. I often see the elderly woman out weeding, pruning and basically loving these plants. She even covers them at the threat of frost!

But my daughters loved me so much, they thrust their little hands through her chain-link fence and picked me a flower. It makes my heart melt.

But we did discuss boundaries that day.

And I'm still waiting for the knock on my door from that little old lady.

Planting Trees with the Expert

At the cabin in Newkirk, Poppy James is the resident expert on all things green. Except boogers. When it comes to planting, he is a genius. This land of plenty is where all things wonderful and canned come from. In addition to a traditional garden, Poppy James grows and grafts fruit trees. Who better than this to help the girls plant their free trees they received from Lowe's on "Free Tree Day"? Not me. I managed to kill the live money tree that was at our wedding reception at this same cabin. I'm pretty sure that killing a money tree is just unforgivable. But, I digress. We managed to talk Poppy James in to planting these three little saplings. The girls helped. Or, just got in the way. You decide.

Look how hard we're working! (OK, It's a little scary how McKenna has worked out this cheese-factor)

OK, we'll let Poppy James do the hard part.

No, Poppy, I think you should dig the hole over here.

Again with the cheesin' for the camera. Sheesh.

Now, I ask you. How helpful can one child be when she's standing on the spot Poppy James is trying to dig up?

Whew. That was hard work. It's a good thing Granny keeps plenty of Coke around.

Amen, sister. I'm beat.

Easter Weekend

We are privileged enough to have a cabin in Branden's family that is available for our use. Down in Newkirk, OK sits a little two-bedroom cabin that Nana and Poppy James Langley keep fully stocked, clean and ready for whoever wants to get away for the weekend. Traditionally, we spend Easter weekend at this cabin with everyone. This year was no exception.

In my sister-in-law, Lydia, I have found a kindred spirit. We're planners. We're caretakers (both of young and old). We're bossy. We're efficient. And when you get five families together for a holiday weekend, planning and efficiency are required. Long ago, the family learned to let us do what we do best.

For this year's holiday weekend, we (and by we, I do mean myself and Lydia) decided to go to church on Saturday evening instead of rushing around Sunday morning. This was a FANTASTIC idea! We went to church, had a late supper and put the kids to bed at a reasonable hour. Then, Sunday morning, we were able to have an Easter basket scavenger hunt since we weren't running off to church. Here is a small sampling of the fun that ensued.

The first clue from the Easter Bunny. Adysan has taken the time to get dressed and fix her hair. My girls couldn't be bothered.

The next clue is discovered out by the Outhouse. The working outhouse. You'd think that the Easter Bunny would have better taste than that.

Headed to the big red barn.

Read it, read it!

You can see that Daddy/Uncle Blake and Daddy/Uncle Branden chose not to get dressed either. Seems Adysan is the only one that's got it together.

Next clue!

Whoo hoo! Found it in Poppy James's garden.

I really hope nothing was unintentionally unearthed in their excitement. The Easter Bunny (Mommy) might be in some real trouble.

Whew! This is a tough hunt. I need a ride!

The Loot!

The idea of the Scavenger Hunt was originally met with skepticism. However, based on the fun these guys had, I think this is a new tradition!