Waiting for Watering

Day 3:

After getting all of my wood cut up into pieces and finally obtaining all the tools needed to put my garden bed together, of course the weather decided to step in and put a crimp in my plans by dumping several days of rain on us.

As I sat inside listening to the pitter pat of barely there rain, I reviewed the gardening books that I have and a few gardening websites. The main purpose of my garden bed was to grow tomatoes to can myself, since I am wary of tomatoes packaged with BPA in their linings. A quick review tells me that I will most certainly not be able to grow enough plants in a 4'X8' bed to keep us in tomatoes all year. And even if I could, I then shouldn't put tomatoes back in that bed for 3 more years (or crops, or something, I don't really get this whole rotation of the garden deal).

So after determining that I won't get enough tomatoes out of the bed, I decide that maybe I should dedicate more space to other stuff.....but what? And in what combinations? The more I read, the more confused and fuzzy I get.

Some books/websites recommend packing things in to get the maximum amount of stuff from your space. According to them, through staggering and interspersing you can plant things closer together than you could if you just had traditional rows of crops. Other books/websites recommend giving the plants lots of space. And then we get to the idea that some plants are great companion plants and are beneficial to each other, while some plants can cause the fruit of others to be less than desirable. Added to that, I have to take into account what I receive routinely from my CSA box weekly, and what my daughter will and will not eat and my head starts to hurt.

I finally arrive at a plan which includes a few tomatoes, peppers, herbs, eggplant and strawberry plants. I have a spot for spinach but I need to figure out if it will bolt on me our weather. I put the plan aside and just enjoy the rain for a bit.

A Stick in the Mud

Day 2:

On day two I take my pint size helper to the other home improvement store in town. (I am still a bit too irritated by my trip on Day 1 to return to the scene of the crime. Although, honestly, I am mostly irritated at myself for forgetting that their store layout stinks since this is not the first time that I have wandered back and forth a ton of times to collect what I need.) I consult the man in the orange vest about the appropriate tools to cut my 2"x8" and 4"x4" boards and post, and it turns out that I already have what I need (or my dad does) to get the job done.

I call my dad over with his Saws-all, park the munchkin in front of the TV and we get to work cutting up the wood on the driveway. When we are done, I have a bunch of wood that, while not perfectly sized, is close enough. We bid adieu to my father for the afternoon and I prepare to start assembling.

The first step is to pre-drill some holes for my bolts, so I get out my cordless drill and affix the proper size drill bit. But when I press the trigger, nothing happens. Shot. The battery must be dead, but that is ok because I have another that has been on the charger since the last time I used the drill. I swap out the batteries lickety split and....... nothing. Good thing I have another drill with a battery that is ALSO fully charged. Except, that does nothing either. Now I am perplexed. I have 2 drills and 3 batteries and something has gone very wrong here. Either both drills are dead, or all 3 batteries have given up the ghost. That just doesn't seem feasible, and it leaves me unable to identify what I need to replace.

I call my dad back and ask him to bring me his battery so that I can test my drill when he comes over for dinner. When he arrives, it turns out that his battery pack is not compatible with my drill, so I can't use it. Luckily he has brought his drill with him and agrees to lend me the set for this project.

At the end of the day, I still haven't assembled anything, but at least I feel like I finally have everything I need for the next day.

Digging In

For the last few years I have been steadily working on changing my black thumb into sometime more greenish. I have successfully grown tomatoes and strawberries in containers in my back yard for the last two summers, only killing the tomato plants well after they stopped fruiting. (The strawberry plants continue to live, even though they didn't produce much fruit last year.) So I decided that one of my projects for the blog should be gardening in a big way and I would go ahead and get a big raised bed built and started in the yard.

Day 1

Before I can build and plant the raised bed, I need to head to the local home improvement store. It is a non-preschool day for Agnes, but I think, surely this can be a trip that we could take together without too much fuss. Right?

We pull into the parking lot with Agnes loudly protesting from the back seat that she wants to go to the grocery store instead, since she is hungry. I finally convince her to pipe down and get on board with this trip and we can exit the car 5 minutes later. She is ecstatic to ride on the big lumber cart and defies injury switching from standing to sitting and moving between the 3 sections of the cart. I haven't the strength of will to fight that fight, and any injury sustained isn't likely to be critical, so I let it slide despite the glare of doom from another woman. I head for the lumber section.

It doesn't take me long to add six 8 foot boards and an 8 foot post to my cart, but it does make it pretty difficult to maneuver. Now, off to get bolts to put these babies together. Of course the home improvement store doesn't store them anywhere nearby, they are on the opposite side of the store near gardening. I push the now heavy cart across the store while admonishing Agnes to be careful and not put her feet down on the ground, lest I run them over to no avail. Once we get to the right section, I find the bolts easily. Which is a good thing because the kiddo is losing patience and has started shifting the loose inventory around.

Next up is the gardening section, where Agnes begs me to buy her a red shovel and I relent. I get myself and Agnes shovels, a ground breaker for myself, and start looking for landscaping flags to mark my sprinkler heads so they don't get torn up. I start to realize that I should have put the lumber in the cart last, it is so hard to maneuver in the gardening section of the store that I become more and more frustrated I can't find what I am looking for. I finally track down an employee who tells me that the flags I am looking for are with PVC piping, not in gardening. Of course, that is on the other side of the store, next to lumber.

Back through the store I push the heavy cart and the squirmy child. I grab the flags and head to the check out only to find myself positioned in the only open check out behind a guy filling out a credit application. Agnes is begging for candy, and I feel like I have entered some circle of hell. Another clerk comes by and tells me to go to the next lane, since she is opening. But by the time I maneuver the cart over there, I am third in line.

I finally get out of the store with both Agnes and I irritated and unhappy only to find that the only way the wood fits in the car is if I roll down a window and have the wood stick out a bit, so we can't go to the grocery store as planned. When I finally get home, I am relieved......until I realize that I didn't buy any clamps to hold the wood to my work table while cutting it, and my saw is not large enough to cut through the 4"x4" post. I toss the wood in the garage, close the door and wonder if this project is going to be more of a pain than it will be worth.

Draw to a Close

I ended up skipping day 4 of drawing because I just wasn't feeling that into it and Agnes was home. On day 5 I felt a little bit inspired to try to get back on the horse, even if the misfit munchkin was still in the residence.

Drawing with a small child around is MUCH different than attempting to hone my drawings by myself. I am assaulted with a barrage a of questions about what I am doing and why I am doing it. Then Agnes takes it upon herself to, "Improve" my drawings. She tells me I am not drawing my lines dark enough, so she proceeds to wrestle the pencil away from me and trace everything I have drawn in a a heavy charcoal outline. I conclude that this is not going to work out for me and let her go to town, preserving a few of my better drawings, but letting her "color" the bird and the doodles I have made today.

At the end of 5 days drawing I am MUCH farther as an artist in this medium than I was when I started. More than the progress I have made in actual technique, I have a completely different view of the exercise than I did going into this week. I don't know what drawing will become my new favored hobby, but I can say that I will work on completing the exercises in the book. It may take me a while, but I am going to give it a shot.

PUBLISH POST

Drawing a Blank

Day 3

I start the day feeling a little antsy. I don’t really feel like drawing, and a review of the day’s planned exercise does not help with the feeling. For the next exercise I am supposed to craft a view finder out of plastic and card stock, balance it on one of my hands and draw that hand based on the resulting view. Frankly, it just sounds like work and I don’t really want to do it. So I spend some time farting around on the internet instead.

After an hour of monkey clicking around the internet, I finally get around to making a viewfinder…..sort of. I find the clear plastic clipboard I have intended to use as a viewfinder and draw a crosshatch on it. I start to get out the cardstock and decide that it really isn’t necessary. So I sit down to drawn my own hand.

Ten minutes later, I am still irritable and antsy. I stand up and sit down at least a dozen times talking myself into and out of the exercise. Why is this causing me so much ANGST? It is just a stupid drawing exercise, not even assigned by a teacher or a boss. Drawing is not the boss of me and I don’t have to do it. So there! I leave the viewfinder and go get some fresh air.

With about an hour to go until I have to leave to pick up my daughter, I return to my sketchpad. I feel like I committed to try things for 5 days and I really shouldn’t give up. So I decide to do the Day 2 exercise again, because it was pretty peaceful and Zen. I start on the Day 2 exercise and the first 30 minutes are just as they were the day before, but then I start to worry about the time. Determining the passage of time while I am drawing is pretty hard, so I start to worry that I am losing track of time and I won’t leave in time to pick up my daughter. So I start checking the clock every 5 minutes. This lack of focus is making the drawing harder and I am back to not feeling it, so I decide to pack it in for the day.

I don’t know what this means for tomorrow. Maybe this will be one of the hobbies I don’t make it through, or maybe I have been spending too much time with a child who has the attention span of a gnat and it has worn off on me. Whatever the case may be, I put it aside for the rest of the day.

Drawing on Brain Power

Day 2:

I decide to give up on reading, “Drawing with Children.” Much of the information is similar, but is less interesting and the example drawings are much simpler and kind of boring. And less boring is good. I already spend a good portion of my day playing with a 4 year old which is great fun if you are 4, but less than mentally stimulating for the over 30 crowd.

Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain launches into a discussion about the fact that most people don’t learn to draw past 9-10 because they never learn to access the spatial relationship functions of the right side of the brain while turning off the dominant language and reasoning centers in their left. I start with a couple of exercises designed to show me how hard it is to draw when you are focused on naming things. And it is hard, very hard. I am instantly transported back to middle school and the suckitude that was art class. My brain rebels and starts hurling really mature thoughts like, “I am not going to do this and you can’t make me so Nah nah na nah NAH.”

When I am done struggling through those exercises, I move on to the exercises designed to HELP me access the right brain functions. I copy a copy of drawings out of the book, but I do it upside down. It is actually kind of hard to determine exactly what I am drawing, but when I turn them right side up they are pretty good. Not picture perfect, but not lamentable either. I also notice that I am no longer getting halfway through the picture and feeling like I have wasted too much time on it. I take as much time as it takes to complete the picture and don’t worry about the time. It’s actually kind of Zen.

Drawing the Starting Line

When I was little I never could figure out how to draw anything more than stick figures or box houses. My brothers both seemed to draw well, and I didn’t, so I figured that it wasn’t for me. My belief in my inability to draw was confirmed when I took art in 6^th grade and Mr. Dyer (or maybe Mr. Dyer was my math teacher? I can’t remember so we will call the art teacher MR. D symbolically.) solemnly let me know that my drawings lacked perspective and merited a D. I spent 6 months in that class drawing the same damn barn over and over again, never getting any better and never figuring out why art was the only class that I couldn’t “get”. Until I said “Suck it, Mr. D” and moved on to rock out science and math classes. (Yep, I am the kid who took extra science classes as her elective because of my ineptitude at creative arts.)

Day 1:

I start by perusing the selection of books on how to draw on Amazon and cross-referencing what is available in my local library. (Because what does a nerd do when confronted with a need to learn something new? Research!) Two of the books, “Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain” and “Drawing with Children,” come pretty highly recommended and are available for check out. Off I go to the library.

When I get home I start to read the introductory portion of the books and put together a list of supplies. The list looks surprisingly like a list for a kid’s birthday party. It includes pencils, paper, markers, and whatnot. The books differ greatly in their recommendations of what to purchase. “Drawing with Children” recommends that the prospective artist start with colored markers to prevent erasing, while “Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain” starts with a more traditional charcoal pencil and eraser nearby. In fact, the only thing that is echoed in both books is the belief that anyone can draw if they practice seeing things properly. I put together a list of supplies and head off to the art store.

When I get home I conquer the introductory exercises. In short time I draw a house with a tree, shrubs and person for “Drawing with Children” (which I have included a picture of for your entertainment) and a self portrait, person from memory and my hand for “Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain.” I am instructed to look at them closely, and I am surprised that I am actually not too unhappy with my work. I already seem to be drawing better, just by checking out the books. Which is to say I am drawing like a regular 11 year old, instead of one that is eligible for special ed. Amazing!

Kicking this Habit to the Curb, for now

Day 5

It is the day for me to try out a regular martial arts studio.

Agnes is having herself a grump and disciplining makes me run late. I arrive at the studio just as the previous class is bowing to their teacher. A quick review of the people waiting to take the mat reveals that the class I had agreed to join is made up of three barely pubescent teens. When I speak to the teen working the desk, it turns out the main instructor is out sick. Unfortunately this is the person with whom I spoke about visiting and no one quite knows what to do.

I am feeling less and less at ease with this situation. I don’t really want to be the only person not dressed in a gi, the only adult, and have to explain multiple times that I am there to try out a class. I opt to flee instead. I head to the library to drift among the books. (Because who goes home early when you have a babysitter? Especially when your child was being a pill when you left.)

---------------------------------

The final word on Martial Arts is that it is a big question mark. I actually enjoyed the class at the MMA gym, but I feel ill prepared at the moment to keep it up. I will probably continue going to the gym near the preschool Agnes goes to until I pull her in preparation for her attending school closer to home. At that point, maybe I will feel like I have made enough movement in the fitness arena to stop feeling like I am too out of shape for their conditioning classes. We will see.

Kicking Myself

Day 4

I am still feeling a little sickly, but I am determined today to do something martial art like. I decide a 45 min aerobic kick boxing class may fit the bill. Plus, I can leave early if I want to, classes at my gym are always packed and no one will notice if I slip out early.

The teacher gets us started with some music. We bounce our weight from foot to foot while we perform jabs, crosses, hooks and uppercuts to the music. The beat is too fast to really worry too much about form. I miss about half of the cues and generally look a little like I am flailing my arms around in sync with the music rather than performing any kind of real punch.

This class is full of my people, white bread suburban moms who have dropped their kids off at the built in babysitter before class. The woman in front of me and the instructor look like they are pretty serious about this being a boxing class and really seem to be putting some heat into their punches, but they are a minority. Most of the class looks like they are trying to punch their way out of a paper sack. I feel like my form and power are even more subpar than they were at the first gym, but I am more comfortable because there are too many of us to allow anyone to focus on my form and there are some that are much worse off than I am. I am a little smug, until I miss a cue and have my foot catch on my pants as I pivot and sweep my own leg out from under me. I rebound off the floor with my face burning and glance around and realize several people TOTALLY saw that. Super.

By the time the class ends I have worked up a good sweat. I am not convinced that the class would teach me how to actually hit anything, but all the shuffling around and bouncing might help me get enough cardiovascular strength to make it through a fight and teach me to be a little lighter on my toes. Maybe with practice I could even get through a class without tripping myself.

Kicking a Cold

Day 3

I wake up on day three feeling sick. There is no way I am going to do yesterday over again at another gym while I am running a fever. So I opt to hold my couch down by lying on top of it. (You never know when the gravity in the living room might get a little light.)

Determined to do something martial art-like, I watch Kill Bill. It is pretty gory and the mediocre plot line hasn’t gotten any better with age, but the fight sequences are still beautiful pieces of work.

I also read Harry Potter and contemplate if the title character could have kicked Voldemort’s ass better if he had a few Mixed Martial Arts moves up his sleeve. I ultimately decide that he probably could have. I make a mental note to enroll my daughter in karate even in the unlikely event she develops magical powers. (I would blame the fever, but that is really just how my mind works.)

A Swift Kick to the Rear

Day 2

I arrive for my class about 5 minutes early. The gym owner P is the instructor of this class and he leads me to the mats and heads into the equipment cage to procure some hand wraps and gloves for me. Once he has wrapped my wrists and fingers properly he tells me to get busy jumping rope.

The only other person in the gym says hello and tells me his name is Ernie as I set up next to him. Together we jump, taking breaks when we start getting winded or are uncoordinated enough to whack ourselves in our shins. Ernie looks like a bouncer, but is clearly not really into the cardio portion of the class. Occasionally P sees we are being lax in our jumping and yells over to us to get moving. Then P tells us to lift our knees while we jump. This leads to more shin whacking and less jumping until the instructor tells us to stop. Next up is bag work.

Ernie moves easily to his bag and starts pounding away. P takes me to one of the lighter bags, explaining that I should stick to them until I am used to hitting. He shows me how to perform a jab and a roundhouse. He corrects my stance, and reminds me to pivot and then leaves me to it. I pound away on the bag for a bit, finding it difficult to keep my feet staggered since I am so used to lining them up for proper form. (A remnant from some personal weight training sessions.) I think I am doing pretty well. Until P comes over to tell me I hit like a girl. Not just a girl, a girl who is patting a puppy instead of beating up a heavy bag. Oh, and I am dropping my shoulder and lifting my chin and basically begging to be knocked out.

While I am doing a dismal job on the heavy bag, another participant comes in a bit late. Lisa is older than I am but she looks like she could give Laura Croft a run for her money. I am clearly out of shape compared to everyone else I the room, but I forge on. 40 minutes go by and I punch, kick and move at the bag and back and forth across the room. While I am doing this, Ernie and Lisa are practicing most of the same moves I am, only on each other instead of a heavy bag. I am glad I am not taking their shots.

When we have about 15 minutes left we start working on “conditioning”. We run around the mats, do squats and ab work. While we are doing this P is doing his best drill instructor impression, yelling at us to do more, faster and better. I am pretty winded and any effort to slow down is met with resistance. I start to wonder if I am too out of shape to survive this class. Then it ends and I am mercifully released and go home.

Ten minutes later I am lying on my couch contemplating the need for lunch. My stomach is growling but I am unsure I have the muscular power left to navigate the 15 feet to my kitchen without collapsing. Instead of making me feel like I could kick ass, so far this experiment is making me pretty sure that my preschooler could take me down. It takes about 2 hours before I feel like I have arms and legs instead of pasta noodles attached at my hips and arms.

Kicking the Couch Habit

I have always kind of wished that I took karate or some kind of martial arts when I was a kid. I suppose I could blame The Karate Kid or Buffy the Vampire Slayer for my obsession. Who wouldn't want to be kick ass?

Day 1 :

I start out slowly. To get in the right frame of mind I watch "Kiss of the Dragon" and a couple Buffy episodes. Jet Li and Sarah Michelle Geller kick ass all over the place while Bridget Fonda does a bad impression of a strung out junkie. Excellent. I check out the phone book to find a likely place. It seems with the rise of Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) as sport entertainment there are a lot of places now. I must decide do I want a traditional karate/judo place or a MMA gym? I pick one MMA gym and one traditional place to visit. The traditional dojo isn’t open in the day, but I can go to a trial class later in the week. The MMA gym invites me to come right over and take a tour and discuss what I want in a gym. I feel a little bad not telling the guy that I am pretty sure I am not going to sign up unless I am SO inspired by his place that I would be willing to cancel my regular gym membership, but I get over it and head over.

I arrive in my street clothes at the gym 5 mins later. The gym is practically around the corner from my house. When I walk in, no one is at the counter. I briefly consider backing out, after all I am a thirty-something overweight stay at home mom, what business do I have being here? But P, the owner comes out of the back and greets me. He laughs when I ask if he can turn me into Buffy, at least that is a good sign. Our tour of the facility takes about 3 mins. There is a weight room, a small break room for kids to do homework, and the gym floor that consists of 2 very large mat areas, a wall of heavy punching bags and a wall with various small equipment like jump ropes. The gym is empty except for 3 guys and a 4 year old who belongs to one of the guys. Even the 4 year old looks as if he could take me.

The owner tells me that if I am looking to become Buffy-like, Muay Thai is probably the class that I want. It will teach me to punch, kick and use my elbow and knees. If I join the gym I can choose to attend any class they offer any time I want. This location has Muay Thai, Brazalian Jui-Jutisu, Judo, Boxing and Conditioning classes. He invites me to return the next day and take a class for free. I agree and head home.

I spend the rest of the afternoon learning about the different types of Martial Arts. Muay Thai is a kick boxing sport that originated in Thailand. It is closely related to a bunch of other Muay sports. It is one of several sports that are used in MMA or cage fighting matches. Brazilian Jui-Jutisu and Judo are related and focus on grappling and wrestling on the floor. I start to wonder if maybe I just picked the most hard-core class to attend.

Sewing it all up

Day 5

After yesterday’s disappointment I am about ready to give up on this project altogether. I am a bit dejected but I decide to forge on for one more day. I have decided to give up the idea of the dress and just turn the bottom half into a nice summer skirt. I consult my mother and review the construction of a skirt I already own and determine that I don’t really need a waistband if I add some interfacing to the top of the lining.

The lining and the interface come together well enough, and I start sewing the main fabric together and I become convinced that it is cut out backward. (The side of the fabric that is printed is cut to face inward instead of outward.) The difference between the front and back of the fabric I bought is very subtle, and it appears I screwed up.

This is the last straw in my mind. I throw the skirt in a heap in the corner and go play with my daughter.

After a few hours to cool down I start second guessing myself, surely if the thing had been cut out incorrectly I would have noticed by now. I have sewn and tried on the damn thing at least twice. I go look again, and realize I was wrong. I didn’t cut out the stupid little triangles on one side, but they are supposed to be on both sides. All will be ok.

The remaining construction goes well. The skirt is sewn; the lining is sewn to the skirt. I have to stop and dig for my sewing machine manual to figure out which foot is the zipper foot, how to attach it and how to use it, but once the manual is located all is well. My daughter and my neighbor (who knocked just while I was trying the finished product on) both have nothing but compliments. I am victorious.

Will I be sewing clothes for myself after this experience? Honestly, I don’t know. The skirt does fit like a dream and is cute. But the whole thing was a rollercoaster and may have cost me more in time and money than just buying something would. I guess I will have to see how much I use the new skirt this summer. I doubt I will take on a dress again anytime soon, but definitely pajamas and easier separates are not out of the question.

As you have sewn, so shall you rip.

Day 4

I start the day looking forward to getting this dress done. I don’t know what I am going to do tomorrow, but I can’t imagine it will take me more than today to sew the three pieces together, add a zipper and put in a hem. I resolve to think about that later and get started.

Sewing the pieces together goes pretty well. I sit back and admire the work so far and I have to say it looks pretty dang good. I am just going to slip it on to double check everything and then throw in a zipper. Of course, that is when I when I hit another speed bump in this process.

This time I have added too much length to the bodice. Because of the extra length the bottom of the midriff doesn’t sit at my stomach, but down around my hips. If I put a zipper in this, it would not close. I am disappointed and unsure what to do next.

If I can get the length on the bodice just right, I could sew the midriff into the right place. But I have already cut it too short and too long, I am unsure of my ability to get it to the right place, even with some awesome advice from a friend. Plus, I really don’t want to buy any more fabric at this point and I don’t know if I could get the line even and matching the midriff piece if I just cut it while the bodice is together. I could just try to sew the skirt to the bodice and leave out the midriff, but that would give the dress a weird empire waist that I don’t think would be attractive on me, and could make me appear pregnant. My last option is to scrap the idea of a dress and just sew up the skirt. This seems the most realistic option, but requires figuring out a way to make a waistband without a pattern or instructions. Whatever I am going to do, because of the way I have constructed the lining, I have to rip out every stitch that I have sewn today to do it.

I get started with my tiny seam ripper, undoing all of my work. Breaking stitches is vaguely Zen-like work and it is alternately calming and deeply frustrating to break down my work and allow me to reach the place where I can start over, yet again.

Sew Far, Sew Good

Day 3

Since I have already completed the bodice once, whipping it together again is a piece of cake. It looks pretty good. I slip it on, and it is GREAT. I like it so much I think if I added a little more length I could totally make a tank top/shell out of this that I would love.

The day goes fast as I whip up a lined skirt and midriff. You know I may just be cut out (ha) for this after all. When Agnes sees the dress parts all ready to be sewn together she tells me she thinks the dress will be “beautiful”. I feel pretty darn awesome.

A Stitch in the Plan

Day 2

I start the day by sitting down with the pattern instructions and a cup of coffee. A couple minutes later I am confused. I am usually a pretty smart cookie and a good reader, but I am having problems following the instructions that are full of vocabulary I am pretty unfamiliar with, facings, bias, casings and whatnot. Luckily, there are pictures and with their help I can sort of decipher what I am supposed to do. I feel like an idiot, but I forge ahead figuring that if I have a problem, I can just look at how other clothes in my closet are put together.

The dress I am making has a bodice, a midriff and a skirt. In pretty short order I manage to whip together the bodice. It is looking pretty good if I do say so myself. I slip the newly completed bodice on and……..Houston, we have a problem.

I am a little chesty. The bust is about 4 inches long and I have at least 6 inches of chest to cover. If I continue with the bodice I have made, I will end up with the seam that is supposed to go under the bust directly across the fullest part of my chest. I will never wear that dress. I decide that I have two options, stop now or find a way to modify this dress so that it fits me. I decide I can just add a couple inches to the bottom of the bodice and all will be good.

Trip 3 to the fabric store is pretty uneventful. I have now bought more than twice the amount of fabric the pattern calls for. I wash and dry again.

While the fabric is drying, I start watching TV. When it is done, I decide that I can cut fabric and watch Buffy at the same time. I lay the pattern pieces out and start cutting as Ms. Summers kicks undead butt. Except, I am not paying enough attention and cut the pattern out exactly as printed. I was supposed to add some length. ARGGGHHHHHH!!!! I am pretty sure my neighbors hear my Charlie Brown-esque scream of frustration.

Trip 4 to the fabric store is embarrassing. I keep my head down and try to avoid eye contact with the same clerk who sold me exactly the same thing just a few short hours ago. I hustle the munchkin out of the store and get to work with the washing and drying again. I am starting to feel a little discouraged.

Sewing the seeds

Day 1

My mom and grandmother were master seamstresses. When I was an early teen, I tried to learn how to sew from my mom but it ended in frustration and tears all around. (Take one stubborn teen who hates to be wrong and one perfectionist seamstress who likes to point out all the places you can “improve” and you will instantly have foot stomping and door slamming.) This week, I decided to give it a shot on my own. I can always give my mom a call if I get desperate, REALLY desperate.

Thankfully, I already have a sewing machine. I bought one in a fit of crazies last year, convinced that I would make myself curtains and have it to fix rips and whatnot. I have removed it a few times to sew up a few pairs of pajamas for Agnes, but kids aren’t really particular about how well their clothes are constructed or fit. The fabric for the curtains still sits on top of it waiting to be made into something constructive. But for this week I decide I need to conquer a real piece of clothing. I grab out the sewing machine and leave the fabric. First stop, the fabric store.

I love fabric stores. I don’t know exactly why, since I don’t sew. But I love the feel of the fabrics, the wash of colors and the weird organizational system that makes little sense to me. I wander the store touching fabrics and just gauzing at them waiting for one to pick me. I finally settle on yellow cotton with white polka dots and a sundress pattern. All together my purchases run about $15, I think this is going to be great. I am going to get a great fitting dress for under $20! Awesome-sauce!

After 3 hours of washing and drying the fabric, (during which I spend a solid hour trying to find my iron) I am ready to cut the pattern out. This is something I feel pretty comfortable with after 20+ years of watching my mom, though I make a solemn vow to myself that I will manage my pins properly so my kid won’t spend her childhood wondering when the next pin is going to jump up and stab her in the foot.

Now I am ready to SEW! Except….. my first review of the pattern instructions shows me I have completely skipped the note that this dress is going to be lined. To be lined, I would need to have purchased lining material. Crap. Back to the fabric store I go, this time with my munchkin in tow. At least I can wash and dry when she is home.

End Run?

Since doubling up on my workout on Wednesday went so well, when I woke up this morning I decided I could do the same thing. Heck, since my class even starts 30 mins later than my Wed. class, I could get the running in first and be totally ready to go.

I had planned to get there 30 mins before my class, but I barely managed to squeak up to the treadmill section with 20 mins to spare. This left me with a dilemma since I really need 25 mins to get my warm up and 20 mins of running in. "What the heck," I thought to myself, "I speed walked in from the car, who needs a full 5 min warm up? I can totally do with just 2 mins." So I walked for a brief couple of minutes before starting my first running interval. And it suddenly became clear to me that I really did need a warm up, because the first two intervals were MUCH harder than the last two days have been.

Around the 10 minute mark, I had to step off the treadmill during one of my walking intervals to stretch my ankles, shins and calves. Everything felt tight and not really in the groove like it had been on Wednesday. I also noticed my music in a way that I had not in the past. My second to last interval was SO hard because the music was just set on a pace that was way too slow and my body kept trying to slow down. But then the last interval hit just as the song changed to something that had the perfect BPM and was by far the easiest interval of them all. I was finally warmed up, the music was right and I was hitting my stride.....but it was time for my High Intensity Interval Training class.

I started the class feeling good, I had kicked that last running interval's butt and was ready to take names. But it didn't take long before my rear was in trouble. Apparently it is one thing to deal with running and a dance cardio class in the same day, it is a different ball of wax to run and do a class that involves weights coupled with a lot of squats and lunges. As my legs SCREAMED at me to stop, I pushed through skipping a few repeater lunges along the way. As we finished the leg portion of the class and moved on to arms, pure cardio and ab work I was fine, but that first 20-30 mins of heavy squatting and lunging had me feeling like I was moving my legs through mud.

For the rest of the day, my legs and lower back protested any sort of strain. When I took Agnes and Calvin for a short walk down the block to "explore" the "forest" next to the creek that runs through the golf course near our home (really just a swampy little tree grove in a gully), I felt like a little old lady hobbling down the block. I have no doubt that tomorrow will be a MUCH different story than yesterday was, and I will pay for the impertinence of doubling up on my work out.

I will continue on my path to training. I have no doubt that the weeks will get much harder and doubling up will no longer be an option, so I will have to pay more attention to making sure I stick to my schedule or risk losing out on my more "fun" aerobics classes. I will try to let you all know how my race goes. I am pretty sure my time will be only slightly better than other people can walk the course in, but having finished and run the whole way is my only goal at this point. But for now I have to go back to stretching in an attempt to forestall any tightness tomorrow.

Run of the Mill

Today is another day of rest in the training regimen. No running to report. I did however wake up completely unscathed by yesterday's double dip of working out. So YAY for that. Instead of running, I took Agnes and Calvin out for a long walk. (I walked they biked and scootered.) They were complaining about tired legs, but got a second wind after we stopped to feed some ducks. (That the sign very clearly says not to feed, but everyone ignores that sign.)

Agnes has now been complaining on and off about being tired for almost a week, and it is starting to worry me. Chances are she is back to being a little anemic since she suffered from that as an infant. I am going to go back to giving her an iron boosted vitamin every day, add spinach to her eggs, and move her bedtime back a bit. We will see how that works for the next week. I am sure the time change won't throw a monkey wrench in my ability to see how those changes are doing for her. Right? Yeah, I thought that was hysterical too.

Running yourself into the ground?

Day 3

When I originally planned to start training I intended to run Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday. I wanted this schedule because it would maximize the number of days that A. would be at preschool while I trained, I could get one day ahead on my blog posts, and, mostly, because I already take an aerobics class at the gym on Monday, Wednesday, Friday. And I like it, a lot. So I wasn't sure I wanted to stop taking my class just to do a 20 min run.

When I woke this morning I wasn't quite sure what to do about that. I could skip training today and get back to a SuTTH schedule, but then I would only have 2 days of training this week. (That would suck.) Or I could skip my class today. (But Wed is my FAVORITE class.) Or I could be a martyr and try to do them both. Since my unofficial motto has always been, "Anything worth doing is worth overdoing" I, of course, opted to do both.

My hour long aerobics class went well, and I skipped out on the cool down to head to the treadmill. I was a bit concerned about how this was going to work out, but I gave myself permission to stop if I started to feel like it was too much. After all, I could always train Thursday and Saturday this week. When I climbed on the treadmill and cranked it up, I was surprised. This was pretty good. Somewhat easy even.

Around the 10 min mark, I started to feel like it was easier on my body to be running than walking. My lungs and heart weren't in agreement, but I definitely felt my legs less when I was running than walking. Funnily enough, I even had to bump up the speed I usually run at. Normally, my walking and running speeds are not separated by much, but around the 12-13 min mark, I started to realize that I was trending toward slower walking times and faster running than usual. It was an odd phenomenon. By the last interval though, I was gasping like a just hooked trout. My body felt a little buzzy and good, but my lungs were sucking wind and my face must have been a sight because 2 people stopped to ask if I was ok. (Love the pale Nordic genes that allow me to turn raspberry in the face as soon as I have any exertion. )

I walked out of the club feeling high. I guess that is the endorphins that people talk about sometimes, but I am not sure I have ever felt them quite like this. My muscles were tired and I didn't appreciate having to squat down to pick things off the ground, but I felt good. Really good. The big question will be if I am still feeling good tomorrow, or if all my muscles will have seized up from the punishment I put them through today. Only time will tell.

Running to stand still

Today is a rest day from running according to my training regimen. So I don't have a lot to report in that arena. I am sort of vaguely sore, but I don't know that it has as much to do with the running as it does with the jump squats I did while my monkey child clung to the front of me. Let me tell you, it is FAR harder to get any air on a jump squat with 36 pounds of squiggly, wiggly, giggly girl hanging on for dear life. I think I managed about 8 before packing it in because I was starting to feel it in the back. (When did I get so old that I have to worry about potential back pain?)

Instead of running, I played a few rounds of tag with Agnes and the next door neighbor's son (let's just call him Calvin for now). I had great intentions of taking Calvin and Agnes on a walk, but alas it was swim lesson day for A., off we went to that instead. So clearly day 2 of training was a grand success in that I really didn't do a whole lot and felt lovely at the end.

Running for cover

When I was in school I hated running. It was my biggest nemesis and the reason that I routinely failed P.E. classes. Because my reaction to the mere thought of running was to cut P.E. and spend the period hiding from the librarian in the school library. (I know, could I BE a bigger geek?) Yet, at the same time I was convinced if I didn’t have to go to school or work, I could totally become an uber fit babe who could keep up with Navy Seals. Kind of like Demi Moore in G.I. Jane, but without the shaved head. Not everyone can rock out a shaved ‘do you know.

So when I decided that I needed to get fit, and possibly write about it for the blog, running was not really the first thing that came to my mind. But I did it anyway. Because I am stubborn and would really like to feel like I could do anything and this seemed as good as any place to start.

Day 1

Since my husband died, I have really rethought exercise. It isn’t just something that I do to look better. (In my experience that didn’t really work out for me anyway.) Plus, I want to model good fitness for my 4 year old daughter, let’s call her Agnes (like the kid in Despicable Me). Which is why I decided to do the Couch 2 5K program and take Agnes with me.

The first week of the program is to alternate running 60 seconds with walking for 90 seconds for 20 minutes. (After a brief warm up of course.) So we started off down the street while I walked pretty briskly and my daughter rode her bike. (Cue Eye of the Tiger and a training montage here.) We started on the sidewalk at our house, because our street doesn’t have a bike lane. All went swimmingly well for the first 5 minutes. Then we got to the main street we were to be running on (since it has a wide bike lane) and the running portion. I told Agnes we were going to “race” and counted us down from 10 to the start.

The first few intervals went pretty well, except that she kept swerving over toward me (and the traffic as I was having her ride between me and the sidewalk). In order to minimize this, I put one hand on her handlebars when she was coming pretty close and would steer her back toward the sidewalk. But her handlebars are pretty low and than meant listing to one side as I was steering.

Around the halfway mark, she was getting a little slower in her “race” speed, and I had to talk her up for the ride back. Her swervy disposition was also getting worse, so I started holding on to her bike the whole time. There were running down the street with me shouting encouragements, “You can do it!” And preying on her competitive nature, “I’m going to beat you!” While I am constantly leaning over to place my right hand on her handlebar. I am pretty sure this was less Rocky and more Bullwinkle than I had originally planned.

At the ¾ mark, she was actively moaning that her legs were tired and she wanted a drink of water. (Damn, I knew I forgot something!) I pulled her with my right hand and kept up the steady of encouragements, competitiveness baiting and promises that it wasn’t too much farther. We barely finished the last interval of running and I was happy to tell her it was the last, not so much because I was tired of running, but because pulling her along with me was giving me a cramp in my side from the odd angle. Once we reached the corner that signaled the location to get back on the sidewalk she seemed to pick up some more steam and we headed home. When we got home she told me that she had a “GREAT” time and wants to do that again, but also she was SO tired she needed a nap. (It was 8:30 AM, and she doesn’t nap.) And she did lie down for the whole time I was in the shower afterward.

All in all, I have to say the running was less painful than I imagined, and the daughter came through like a champ. I haven’t decided if I am taking her with me tomorrow or if I will wait until she is in school. On one hand, it will certainly be easier to do it alone, but on the other hand she can probably use the work out too and it isn’t like it killed her or anything.

And that's what it's all about!

I have been thinking lately on the transient nature of my stay at home adventure. I signed Agnes (name totally changed to protect the somewhat innocent) up for kindergarten and I can't imagine that I will stay home for much longer than it takes for her to start first grade, so the clock is ticking. Plus, next year I will likely have a smidge more time than I currently do as she will be in school all five days of the week and I will not be driving quite so far for her to attend. When those facts are combined with the occasional feeling that my life has been swallowed by mommyhood and my brain is rotting from partaking in very little that is more mentally strenuous than reading The Cat in the Hat for the umpteenth time, I realized that it was time to work on some thing that will get me out of the rut I am currently in.

My goal is to take this next year and try things that I have always meant to do that I have always had an excuse for avoiding. I will shoot to try something new for five days and report back my findings on whether it is something that I will continue to do. I would like to say I will do this every single week without fail, but let's be honest....that's not likely to happen. But I will endeavor to do it often.

Hobbies to try will be given 1 hour a day on average. I think I can manage an hour....either when A. is at school, I will do some of them with her, or I will wait until she is sleeping when that is a viable option. Let the adventure begin!