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At one point when I was a kid, I remember wondering why there wasn’t a designated “Children’s Day” like a Mother’s or Father’s Day.

Every day is children’s day, my Mom told me.

Touche, mama.

At the new Rock Stars, Cars, and Guitars exhibit at the Children’s Museum on Friday, Pitter sat on a beloved motorcycle.

When do I get to ride a motorcycle, Mom? he asks constantly.
Never! I whisper under my breath. Nevermind that I have been on them myself.

Patter does karoke:

And then plays hippie-kid dressup:

On Saturday, we all waded through the 95% humidity soup and hit the PBS Kid’s Day in the Park downtown.

Patter tries to make sense of Cheep and Quack or whoever the hell these guys are:

Pitter looks nonplussed to meet Princess Presto. I donno. I don’t know why she didn’t bring her magic wand. (She looks a little dazed herself, too.)

And finally, we have Patter curiously approaching Martha the Talking Dog.

Did you spend your weekend ferrying small people around from one fabulous adventure to another? Or did you go to a cafe for dinner and enjoy a bottle of wine, hit a movie, and then enjoy a jazz brunch on Sunday?

Do tell.


Bree and I ran the Indianapolis Mini Marathon on Saturday. She’s promised to tell her story soon.

Here’s mine.

I’ve been theoretically excited to attempt another half marathon (I’ve done three in the past), but once I started training this winter, I found myself dreading the long runs, tired a lot of the time, and not particularly pumped for the race. Seriously, the best part of all of this has been making a new friend in Bree and getting to know her family. After my injury a few weeks ago, I reeled in my secret hope of finishing the race in under 2 hr 10 minutes and accepted that a time somewhere between that and 2 and a half hours might be more realistic.


[5 am, Saturday morning]

No one in their right mind is getting out of bed right now to run 13 miles. This is insane. I hate getting up in the dark.

[7 am downtown Indy, 47 degrees w/35 mph headwinds]

I cannot *believe* how cold I am. I am going to burn off my entire breakfast shivering before we even start. How are all of these hundred-pound women not turning blue in their teensy outfits?

[7:20 waiting in race corral]

Holy crap, these people are chiseled. My god, that woman’s butt is no wider than Patters’.

Why in God’s name was I put in this group ¬†based on a 5K time from six months ago? I’m doomed to start too fast with this pack. Everyone has got to be looking at me wondering how the hell I scored this corral letter. “Which of these runners doesn’t belong?” Me! Me!

[Mile .01]

Aaaand, I just lost 50 seconds after crossing the starting line nearly getting trampled trying to pick up my dropped cell phone AND its back. Good times.

[Mile 2]

Pace feels good. Feels natural, even though 60% of the crowd seems to be passing me. Hmmm. Still don’t particularly feel like running another 11 miles right now. So sleepy. Liking this DJ on the side of the road, though.

[Mile 3]

Awww. Look at that kid band! The drummer can’t be much older than eight. How much would it rock if Pitter entertained the crowd like this in a few years? Oh but wait. That would mean I’d have to get up at 5 am to help him and his band mates set up on the side of the road in a junky neighborhood. Scratch that plan.

[Mile 4]

Wait. Am I consistently running under ten minute miles? This may be too fast. Also, need to pee. When do those porta potties show up on the course? Should have looked at the course map more closely. Also, now that we’re away from the White River, this course is taking us through some really unattractive neighborhoods.

[Mile 6]

Hello, Indianapolis Speedway. And hello, porta potty!

[Mile 7]

Ahhh. Finally, some smooth surface. Check out all of these cheerleaders in tiny skirts shrieking for us. What the hell ¬†are they hopped up on anyway? Can I have some? 6 more miles? Phew. Don’t think I can pretend I’ve got fresh legs for a 6 mile run right now.

Oh, college girls. It’s really not hot enough to strip off your shirts. And chubby middle aged dudes? Stop checking them out. It’s never going to happen. Man, I’m a bitter old bag.

[Mile 8]

Hello knees. Shut up, knees. And side stitches? Come on! I haven’t had side stitches in months. Gah. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. How many times are we going to cross train tracks? Someone’s going to break an ankle. Oh look. More pot holes!

[Mile 9]

Seriously. Are we done yet? Don’t wanna do this anymore. There is no wall. There is no wall. Okay. Water and walk for 30 seconds. And go: Just a four mile jog from here. Let the energy of the people ahead of you puuuulll you along.

[Miles 10 and 11]

Dark thoughts…didn’t train enough…too fat for this…body is disintegrating…NO! You have already run 10 miles! You are no wimp! You are an athlete, dammit!…dark thoughts…Oh lady singing a Cheryl Crow cover please please shut up…dark thoughts.

[Mile 12]

Just one.more.mile. The wind is at your back. Just fall across this bridge towards the finish line. No juice to sprint to the end. How are all of these people finding the kick to speed up? Who cares. Just keep going.

[Finish Line]

Surprised to find myself choking back tears. I didn’t really think I could do this. I’m not sure I really even wanted to do this. But I did. Feels a bit like a dream. A painful dream, but a dream. Sniff.


So it’s been 7 years, 2 children, and I’m carrying 10 extra pounds since my last half marathon but in the end I was only 5 minutes slower with a 2:05 finish time. Those chiseled people sure did pull me along. And I only felt like throwing up for three miles!

When I got home, Patter presented me with flowers, Powerbars, and a toy microphone (?). In exchange for my participation medal, he also gave me a sign he made: “Great race Mommy.”

I don’t think I’d call it a “great” race. But it wasn’t half bad.

I went to a Muffins for Mom morning at the boys’ Montessori School this morning. Sweet Cheeks went to a similar Donuts with Dad event a few weeks ago and warned me that it would probably bring me to tears.

Sidenote: Pitter asks, “Why can it not be Bagels with Dad and Cupcakes with Mom?” Good question, kiddo. I’d pick a cupcake over a muffin any day.

Pitter is doing amazing work at school. He’s working at a kindergarten level on many activities, and yes, I gulped back tears when he so confidently showed me his favorite activities.

With the “Moveable Alphabet” kit he came up with and spelled out the sentence “The sun is not in the mug” on his own. This kit comes with a wooden set of inch-high letters and a variable box of tiny toy objects. (The tiny sun was *in* the mug but Pitter likes to be contrary these days, so…)

With the “Matching Rhyming Words” kit he read cards with three-letter words and matched them to one of five pictures with which they rhymed.

Patter is speaking in three and four word sentences, can recite the names of all seven teachers at school, and is the king of the nesting Russian doll work.

The Spanish teacher held a half-hour class, and both boys were absolutely enchanted with the lesson.

Can I give Montessori School any more props? I cannot. The boys are thriving and I am astounded by the creative and engaging approach to learning it offers.

And now that you’ve slogged through my overt bragging, I give you photographs to go with yesterday’s post:

Patter and Maisy breakfast together

Rainy Day Adventures

Patter tries to jump

Pitter “waters” the leaves