Running on Faith June 2, 2007

 Tonight I went for a much-needed run. I am not a runner. If there was an award in high school called the “Most likely to make up a ridiculous excuse to get out of P.E. class” I would have won it. I remember my gym teacher, Mrs. Johnson, standing by the metal bleachers with a clipboard and those striped polyester athletic pants. She wore a whistle that she never blew. She held a stopwatch that she never started. Yet her presence made me shake in my Keds. She sent us on a figure eight route—around the track, through the arboretum and around the baseball diamond. The arboretum worked well for me. I found a great rhody bush to hide behind and completely avoided the second part of the figure eight. I guess my loop was more like a “figure zero.” It worked wonders until they trimmed the rhody bush. When I run, it looks more like a shuffle. I can just hear the conversations in the cars driving by. “Is she even moving?” “Good for her—running even though she’s pregnant!” (I’m not.) “Honey, be nice. At least she’s out there.” I look like something straight out of Flashdance—knee bands like leg warmers, running gloves that rival Michael Jackson’s, a Rambo sweat band. I should just throw in the towel and get the green and gold striped tube socks. I always feel like someone’s chasing me but it’s usually my rear end. And I’m probably the only runner who has to use Lamaze breathing to get through my workout. If you can find a workout that doesn’t feel like death by a thousand paper cuts, do it. It’s amazing what a quiet walk around the block will do. Instead of focusing on the physical challenge, focus on the mental benefits of getting away. Start with a walk. A little 80’s music from Tiffany. (Maybe not.) And some emotional baggage. You won’t believe how quickly some alone time will lighten your load. For me, running is cheaper than therapy. It’s a sloppy, challenging, uphill battle. And fortunately, my kids don’t have legs long enough to catch me. Last weekend I won my first race in my division. Time to start the stopwatch, Mrs. Johnson.

- Laura Speidel, author Mom2Mom – 7 Reasons to be Grateful You’re The Mom of a Newborn

memories are bigger than messes May 5, 2007

What is it about a clean house that resets my trip odometer? Clean smelling wipes that singe nose hairs do wonders for my psyche. Vacuum tracks provide peace-of-mind. Slobbery toys in the box are liberating. It’s all on the surface, of course. The truth is under the toaster. The microwave shines outside, but the hot dog that exploded is still stuck to the inside. Elmo is on the shelf but his batteries are dead so he’s moaning. You need life insurance before opening the study closet.

I walk a delicate cleaning tightrope, finding the balance between keeping an orderly house for my kids and putting my kids first in order of priorities. Maybe the façade is all for me—I don’t mind using muscle to shove the linen closet door closed if it means one more loop around the train track with my boys. My laundry pile makes a great ladder for reaching Big Bird band-aids. If I use my entire forearm, I can sweep pretzel crumbs under Elmo placemats.

I arrived at this sweet place called “semi-clean” one day while scrap booking. Christian, age three, was playing with Legos and I calmly explained to him that I needed to run and do a bit of scrap booking. “Why?” he asked. “Because,” I stated, “if I don’t get your pictures into an album, I’ll forget these precious memories!”

Precious memories were happening behind me as I headed for the albums. I turned on my heels, sat down, and played Legos. It’s a daily struggle. Dishes are staring me in the face. Pink, Dr. Seuss-like foam circles the tubs. Hairballs blow by like tumbleweeds. But memories are bigger than messes. And that’s what matters most!

- Laura Speidel, author Mom2Mom – 7 Reasons to be Grateful You’re the Mom of a Newborn

Every Day is Mother’s Day April 5, 2007

Welcome to the new Mom 2 Mom blog!  You will hear from the authors soon!