The Family Photo

The air is getting crisp, those weird cinnamon brooms are in Trader Joe’s again, which can only mean one thing: that time of year is fast approaching……………

Time for the family photo.

Every year I force everyone to sit down and take one “nice” family picture. My husband calls it The Day of Tears. More than once the person in tears has been me.

This is not something I do to satisfy my masochistic tendencies (which, let’s be honest, I have).

It’s because way back in the day, the first year that we were married and living in Kentucky, I thought it would be nice to send a card to everyone back home letting them know that we were surviving marriage and…well…Kentucky.

So I started going through pictures from the year and found exactly zero–ZERO–of just the two of us looking normal. So I made us sit down, put the camera on timer, and take a picture of us and the dog.

Look how CALM everything is! How the lighting is just right. Sigh.

And there it was. The birth of the Day of Tears.

Yes it feels like a lot of effort for something so cheesy, but I know that when we get old(er) we will enjoy having a picture of all of us together each year. And so I power on.

I set a few ground rules:

1. We take the picture ourselves (I refuse to pay someone to watch my family melt down)
2. Everyone in the family has to be included
3. You have to be able to see everyone’s face
4. >=50% of us have to look happy.

Over the years things have become progressively more complicated.

Seating got a little tighter.

Then emotions got involved.

There ARE years where everyone appears relatively happy (or at least not hysterical) and is looking at the camera.

Those are special years.

As the years progressed wardrobe warfare has added an additional psychological element to the process.

And our bench is gradually beginning to collapse.

But I power on.

There are people who have accused me of staging our photos, or that we intentionally find a picture where one kid looks pissed.

To those people I say: you clearly have never seen the outtakes.

I also just realized that Eddie wore the same shirt two years in a row.

And yet she persisted.

Fall Running

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the time has come for colds
and overcoats

Sort of.  At least until the sun comes up.

It dipped down into the high 60s last week.  On my morning run I saw a lady riding her bike wearing gloves, scarf, and a hat.

I was considering running another half marathon this fall with the hopes of breaking 1:45.  But since my last race about two months ago I have run approximately 5 times (once at 10,000 feet that was a very slow walk/run which almost killed me), attended two weddings, one family reunion, and consumed an unprecedented amount of bourbon and food.

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(Speaking of which, the place we stayed at in September served bahn mi tacos WHAAAAT).

It’s been awesome.

But then my sister showed up this weekend.  Since I last saw her, she has lost 10 lbs and is a weight-lifting, marathon-running machine.  In her usual overachieving fashion, she PR’ed at the NYC Marathon two Sundays ago…and then decided to run the SB Veteran’s Half Marathon this morning.  Carrying a 40lb backpack.  Like she did two years ago.

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She invited me to join her, but I bailed at the last minute.  Because wine and tacos.  And children. Always blame the children.

So since I couldn’t be there to support her or say it myself at the race, Happy Veterans Day and thank you to all the vets out there including my sister, my dad, my grandfather, some of my cousins, and a handful of my uncles.

And in the wise words of my sister (or her army friend, I’m not sure):

If you want to thank the military, be the kind of American worth fighting for.

Lonely

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So this happened yesterday.

They’re both in Kentucky for 2 weeks.  TWO. WEEKS.

Yesterday was a hectic morning.  I drove to work for 3 hours, drove home, loaded kids and in-laws into the car, dropped them off at LAX, ran back to work, met with two more clients, then my final client canceled last second.

And suddenly, after what has felt like months of running around like a maniac…

I was free.

And I had no idea what to do.

The walk to the car:

“I should go shopping!  No, I should go home first and take inventory and then go shopping.  Wait, no, no rush for food because we don’t have to pack lunches tomorrow.  I can read that book I’ve been wanting to read for 4 years!  No, I should take a nap! No, I should go for a bike ride, I can never do that when I have the kids.  I should bike ride to the library!!  No, I should be productive now, then I can nap later.  I should clean.  No, I should relax.”

And round and round we go.  It was like my brain couldn’t process anything.  Hopefully the next few days of decision making for myself will be less anxiety-producing.

Thanksgiving Lessons

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over dessert:

J1: did you know that one time a guy ate a whole automobile?
M: an automobile?  no way.  that’s not possible
J1: yes!  it’s true!  he broke it down and ate it piece-by-piece
M: but…why?  why would you eat a car?
D: well because then when someone would introduce you to their friends they’d be like, ‘hey, this is my friend, the one i told you about who ate a car.’
M: why would you want that to be the way someone introduces you?
J2: why eat just a car?  why not go for something bigger?
E (joining the table): are you guys talking about the guy who ate the school bus?
M: well, there you go. he totally one-upped the guy who ate the car
J1: it wasn’t a school bus, it was a car
E:  no! it was a school bus. his name was hamish mctavish.  when i was teaching there was a book called ‘hamish mctavish eats a school bus’
M: they teach that to kids at school? that it’s ok to eat school buses?
J1: i don’t believe it
E (getting up, heading towards the computer): look, i’ll show you. i think he ate everything except the tires
J2: of all things to stop you from finishing a school bus…
E: OH MY GOD!

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E: someone ate a 747!
D: how long did it take him to eat it?
E: it doesn’t say
J1: i wonder if his doctor asked him if he gets enough iron
M: who gave him a 747 to eat?
J2: that would be a bummer, you eat a bus and then find out someone else ate a 747
D: especially because then when you’re friend introduces you as, ‘hey, this is my friend that ate a car’, someone else can say, ‘oh yeah?  well my friend ate a 747’

Update: there’s a book about the 747.  it is fiction.  but apparently some french dude did eat a cessna.

Travels

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Welcome back!  I’ve returned from the black hole that was at trip to Iowa (first time in Iowa!  What’s up corn and big skies?)…

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…for a family wedding…

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…followed by a getaway to vegas for some relaxation…

IMG_20141005_073011this book, btw, not the best light-hearted vacation reading

…and hiking….

IMG_20141005_073105red rock from the car window

…and Vegas stuff (though when we got there we immediately lost $30 at the slot machines, and that was pretty much the end of that.)

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Vegas is such a weird place, I never know whether to feel excited or disgusted or totally impressed at what that city is. We stayed at the Palms, mostly because I was like EFF YEAH THE REAL WORLD LAS VEGAS BRING IT!  (And I heard that Pauly D DJs there).  But, in a surprising turn, our 3 days there was nothing like Trishelle’s experience back in 2002.

We did, however, befriend this guy in the elevator on the way back down to our room the last night there.  So solid quasi-celebrity sighting.

It’s been fun, great to see family, and nice to relax, but it’s good to be home.

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Mother Knows Best

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Today is my mother’s birthday.  Somebody is super excited about it.

In honor of her birthday, below some sage advice that she has bestowed upon me over the course of the last 32 years that I will be passing along to my own daughter:

  • Always say thank you.
  • Babytalk is not attractive.  Ever.
  • Always wear nice underwear, in case you get hit by a car and they have to cut your clothes off in public (this has come in handy more often than I ever thought it would.)
  • When things seem really terrible, take a shower.  You will come out the other end feeling at the very least a little better than you did going in.
  • Eat tomatoes.
  • A clean house is one of the best gifts you can give someone at the end of the day.
  • When you are under a lot of pressure to perform and start to feel it getting to you, remember: all you can do is your best.  That’s it.  So stop stressing.

Happy birthday, Mom.  We love you.

Margaret Meagan Golden Gate San Francisco circa sept/oct 1981