Monday: Swim

You know, I talked to my friend Robin on the phone today, and I was telling her that I could not seem to get to the pool deck on time or get the house together and that I am falling asleep sitting up and today I took a nap like nobody's business.  She said that I am at the end of my confinement and should probably cut myself a bit of slack and get over it, which is a good point.

Also, there was a bit of testiness involved with my child.  There was some refusal to sit on the potty combined with some reluctance to get in the car, get dressed, ect ect ect.  And if I was the type of person who had my family rolling at 5:30 AM, I might could get places on time.  But, this morning was a 7:30 AM kind of morning, as I had a late night writing thank you notes and such.  So far, I have been on time to the first two days of nursery school and for that I would like a gold star or some sort of cash reward.

Anyway, Steven, our swim coach, had been to a coaching clinic last week, which is a bit scary as he comes back and expects us to work and hit it pretty hard.  My flip turns currently look like some sort of underwater dog paddle combined with a cartwheel, and it is just pretty silly.  My butterfly is worse than usual and my backstroke just looks like a cry for help in a riptide.  SO, when I saw that the schedule was a whole bunch of IM today, I knew that I was in for an ego-crushing.

Workout at follows:

• 400 warmup
• 4 x 100 IM
• 300 swim
• 3 x 100 IM
• 200 swim
• 2 x 100 IM
• 100 swim
• 100 IM
• 500 swim
• 2 x 100 IM
• 400 swim
• 3 x 100 IM
• Then we did some social kicking

I ran a couple of errands on the way home, and then Ivan and I got in our respective beds and crashed out.  It is all I have to report.  Work tomorrow and hitting the Maryland Farms YMCA.  My monthlong membership is almost at an end.  

Friday: Home From Montana

So for the past week, I have been in a fishing lodge outside Livingston, Montana.  There was no television and the internet was spotty at best.  I ingested these fabulous breakfast buffet blueberry french toast casseroles and a whole bunch of red meat, and I am in need of a serious detox.

Working out this week was a bust, as my confinement combined with altitude made running so difficult.  AND, due to biohazard issues at the Livingston City Pool, I was unable to swim.  I did run and there was a good bit of walking and hiking, but overall, it was a week of entertaining my child without the help of technology which makes me wonder how Laura Ingalls Wilder did it.

ALSO, most unfortunate, the fishing lodge did not have cribs, and Ivan had to try his luck sleeping in his own adult bed.  There were multiple incidences of falling out of the bed and head bumps, ect, ect ect. I, however, true to form, turned over all middle of the night issues to my husband.  I greatly dislike sleep disturbances.

Anyway, in a gross oversight of my child's schedule, I booked a flight that arrived in Nashville at midnight.  There was lots of grumpiness and poor sleep, and we all functioned in a blur today until Ivan went down for his nap at which point we all napped.  Sleeping in and not hitting running group tomorrow.  Maybe will be more interesting tomorrow.

Monday/ Tuesday: Swim, Run, and Yoga

Now, yesterday was a day of mental and physical malaise.  I had a bad night's sleep, Ivan melted down about going to the gym, two people told me that I looked "huge", and I had a little brownie meltdown that made me feel physically ill within 30 minutes of the binge.

But back to the two people who told me that I looked "huge" - let's never say that and here is why: I was going on a bad night's sleep and some seriously bad behavior from my child to begin with and telling me that I looked "huge" sort of put me in the state of mind to waltz back out to the parking lot and key cars or slash tires.  Or go all Winston Churchill and say that I will lose this 12 pounds of baby that I have gained, but you will still be: 1) socially incompetent, 2) physically hideous, 3) vile.

Now, here are how polite people have addressed my obvious state of confinement:
"You are so tiny, that I know that must be a baby bump"
"From the back, I would never have any idea  you were pregnant."
"Oh, you are pregnant, I had no idea.  You can't tell." (clearly a LIE, but I LOVE IT)

To those people who have uttered the above statements to me, you have earned a place of love in my heart that will never be quenched.  To those of you who have used the word "huge", don't look to me for help in a post-apocalyptic world.  If I end up with all the canned goods, you are SOL.

Anyway, I had a good swim, but was in a state of malaise that ended in furious needlepointing and an early bedtime.  Today was much lovlier: great sleep, a fun morning at the pool with friends, a great yoga session with Ivan finally perfecting downward dog, and a nice run.  It was good times.

Friday and Saturday: Swim and Run

So, I figured out this week that the third trimester of my confinement is rolling in by way of debilitating tiredness.  Yesterday, by 5:00 PM, I was almost catatonic.  It took all my physical strength to transport Ivan home from a pool swim and stagger into the house, turn on Sesame Street and lay on the couch.  It was ridiculous.  I was in bed at 8:00 PM, because I am CLEARLY 102 years old.  To make matters worse, I slept fitfully, as my bladder propelled my from bed at regular intervals.  Can I wear Depends? Would that help?  Do I have too much pride?

Anyway, as I ask the question "do I have too much pride?", I know that I do not and here is why.  On Friday morning as I was swimming laps at a good clip, I noticed one of the lifeguards racing down the length of the pool.  Now, I of course assumed that someone was drowning or worse, maybe worse, but then he stopped at the end of the lane and yelled at me, and I knew the worst had happened.  Things were so bad in the gym nursery that the nursery workers could not even leave.  They had to send Carl the lifeguard, and I had to drag all 6.5 months of myself down to the nursery in a bikini and survey the damage.  I will just say that it was rugged, and I have to hand it to the nursery workers for being totally kind and patient and not making my child ashamed in any way of his excretory functions.  Ivan looked totally fine (even pleased?) with the situation.

The nursery floor was wrecked with three different accidents, and Ivan had gone through all of his underwear, all of his changes of clothes and all of his diapers, but for the one that I luckily had left to put on him.  In my sad bikini, dripping wet, Ivan and I went into the bathroom and began the task of giving him a sink bath, scrubbing down the floor with wet wipes, scrubbing the toilet with wet wipes, washing Ivan's shoes, and packing the mountain of soiled clothing into a plastic bag to transport home.  It was hard times.

After that, I had to take Ivan straight home.  I did not get to shower and I just drove us home in my bathing suit, looking longingly at liquor stores as we drove.  At home, I resigned myself to just making it through the rest of the day.  I survived.  By the time I took Ivan swimming and made it home on Friday evening, I was just a shell of myself.

This morning, I just did not get up when my alarm went off, and I slept a little later and devoted myself to getting all my paper work finished and listing some things on Ebay.  I ran in the afternoon, but it was slow and I actually walked the last mile.  I cooked in the evening and made Glowing Green Smoothies for the week.  Ultimately, however, I need something stronger than a Glowing Green Smoothie to cleanse Friday from my system.

Thursday: Run and Yoga

So today, Ivan and I were at home all day and potty training went reasonably well.  The only thing we had on our calendar was family night at Cheekwood to see a band and the train exhibit.  I got in a really good yoga session and I pathetic run with the jog stroller.  Today was officially the last run with the jog stroller that I will have until the end of my confinement.  My jog stroller run was PATHETIC.  It was more like a hopping from side to side with minimal progress forward.  Ivan asked several times (with confusion) what we were doing.

All day, Ivan was BESIDE himself about family night.  He kept calling it a party and asking when it was going to start.  When we arrived at Cheekwood, and he saw the trains, he was more thrilled than maybe I have ever seen him, and he never stopped running.  He ran in circles for two solid hours.  He ran up and down the hill.  He got in the pond before I could stop him; he jumped in the creek.  He sprinted back up the hill and around the trains three times.  There was a point when I could not physically keep up with him, and I vowed to never take him anywhere that was not specifically caged by myself again.

If next week I am brave enough to take Ivan on a return trip to Cheekwood, I will be hiring or begging help.  Tonight was intense, and I am pretty sure that Ivan is going to have wrist burn where he tried to repeatedly twist away from me to hurl himself down the big hill.  At one point, when he did twist away from me, I had a heart stopping second where I was sure that he had broken his neck.  He gave me a soul searching look as to whether or not he should melt down, decided against it and then continued sprinting away with his little legs turning like windmills.

When I finally muscled him in the car sobbing at high volume as if his heart would break and crawled into the car with my seatbelt on, I felt like I needed a tranquilizer or a a stiff drink or maybe even just to shut Ivan in the car and sit for a minute and do some deep breathing or a quick downward dog.   I just needed some time.

At home, my head is still throbbing, and I have never been so glad to put anyone to bed.

Saturday: It has been forever since I blogged

I think that this is my longest blog hiatus since I started my blog.  It was actually pretty painful, and I missed it.  IN FACT, I was so overcome with concern at not being able to report my comings and goings that I almost had a Mac attack on Friday night and went and bought an ipad, so that I could at least tap out a bit of my travails in Spain.  I do not think that I will travel again without some way to capture my experiences.  I took a notebook and made journal notes of everything we saw and did, but it was not the same.  

Anyway, Spain was really fabulous.  My friend Melissa and I travelled together and then met her sister once we reached Madrid.  Our flight over was brutal, and I do not mean to complain or sound like the Princess and the Pea, but there is no quality sleeping to be had on an overseas flight when you are flying coach.  I sort of have in my head that the next time I go overseas, I will put all my money into one of those British Airways flights where you can sleep in the first class beds.  I will be glad to save money elsewhere by sleeping in hostels and public parks and eating Grab the Gold bars that I have brought from home.  Anything seems a worthy sacrifice.  

We began our day with an 8 hour layover in New York, where we went to see the Alexander McQueen exhibit at the MET.  The clothes were stunning, the craftsmanship was unreal and the presentation was interesting, to say the least.  We were able to have lunch at the met and to be honest, I thought that we would never get out of the MET (The Metropolitan Museum of Art) as it seemed as large as the Louvre and the more we walked the more there was of everything that you can imagine.  It is amazing that as a world population we have provided so much stuff.  Just so much stuff.  

Our overseas flight was just the worst, as above mentioned.  I staggered off the plane shellshocked that anything that miserable could last 8 hours.  It seemed cruel and unusual.  We landed finally in Barcelona, and boarded a train to Madrid.  You know the trains were so much nicer that the plane, and I took many a fabulous train nap on our trip.  I usually strolled off the train thinking that life was worth living in the world of Renfe (the train company).  

So we arrived in Madrid at around 3:45 and walked with our luggage to the Hotel Mora.  It was quite nice and in walking distance of the train station and the Prado.  We checked into our hotel and took showers and walked down to the The Prado.  The Prado is a Spanish Art museum that houses portraits of the Spanish Royal family, many Catholic depictions of various Biblical events and some portraits of various events in the lives of Greek gods and goddesses (for instance Saturn eating a baby).  We saw art by Goya, Reubens and El Boscos.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.  On the way home, we stopped at a tapas bar (La Taperia) for dinner and hit the room early for a good night's sleep before hitting Madrid hard on Monday.

Monday: On Monday, we embarked on one of my all time favorite things to do in the world:  a hop on/ hop off  bus tour.  The weather was lovely.  I wore the very best of my tennis shoe chic and packed up my trip journal and my camera and we were off.  We saw the Parque de Retiro, which houses the Crystal Palace, the Rose Garden and the Boat Pond.  We stopped into the Sal Monica shopping district mostly to find a bathroom, went to see the Palacio Real and Gardens which were once home to the Spanish Royal family.  It is said to rival Versaille, but I would disagree.  It is more eclectic with a porcelin room and a China room that you would never find in France, but it lacks the scope and especially the gardens.  We had lunch outside again as the weather was lovely.  In the evening we took a   modern tour of Madrid and saw the football stadium, some of the foreign embassies, the children's hospitals and Ingles, which is a sort of Bloomingdales of Spain.

Fo dinner, we walked to Plaza El Mayor.  It took us about 20 minutes to get there from our hotel.  We went to the Mercado del la Paz and had Churros and chocolate at San Gines.  They were crazy delicious.

Tuesday: Now, this morning, I got cocky and thought that I would go for a jaunty run through the streets of Madrid, and I felt a bit fancy as I ran through gardens, around the Prado, and circled around Neptune's fountain a couple of times.  I felt great when I came in.  I stopped at Starbucks on the way back to the Hotel Mora, and I felt like my day was off to a fabulous start.  I was, however, entirely incorrect about this.  I crashed hard as we were walking the Botanical and I took a park bench nap like a vagrant with horrible jet lag.  We had hoped to visit the Reina Sophia today, but it was closed and we missed Picasso's Guernica.  We had a quick lunch after the Botanical gardens, and then grabbed a train to Pamplona.  

I slept for most of the three hour train ride to Pamplona and when we stepped off the train I felt relatively refreshed, but it was only moments before I realized that by way of a surprise cold front, the weather had stabbed us in the back.  The weather had turned brutally cold and by the time we had moved into and then headed out of the dorms where we were staying, the temperature had dropped to 45ish degrees and it threatened rain.  It was bitterly cold.  It was so cold that I could not wrap my stiff fingers around my camera to document our evening.  On the way home from dinner, where incidentally, I had some amazing lasagna, it began to rain horizontally.  So cruel of Spain to treat us thus.  

Wednesday, June 1: So today, we were up early to catch the 7 AM bus to Bilbao so that we could tour the Guggenheim Museum of Modern Art.  I slept most of the way there, and the museum was stunning, but I was struck over and over with why they would have built it in Bilbao.  It was a three hour bus ride, and while the town of Bilbao was charming with medieval squares and a great little tram system, I couldn't, for the life of me, understand the choice of location.  I should read more about it, but it seemed that it should have been in a higher traffic location.  It seemed a bit like overlooking New York as a place for a center of modern art and turning instead to Paducah, Kentucky.  Also rather damning was the fact that the weather forced me to wear a sun dress with leggings and my dansko clogs, a cashmere sweater, a rain coat and a scarf. It was painfully frumpy.  

That aside, the museum was just stunning.  It was rife with works by Jeff Koons, a huge flower puppy and balloon like steel art.  There was a Port-a-jon with microphones over the toilet seat and megaphone speakers coming from the top of the port-a-jon that told just how much of our privacy has become public with the internet.  There was a screen  replaying the 1966 world cup while on another screen a 21st century crown cheered the game.  There was barbed wire art left over from apartheid, and pickled cow innards from Damien Hist that was supposed to help me come to terms with my own mortality.  A room of feminist art focused on fecal matter, which was rather unfortunate and actually did not resonate with me.  

After the museum, we toured the small city of Bilbao and then boarded our bus back to Pamplona (I slept the whole way home) where we got into bed early in anticipation of our early morning train ride to Barcelona.  

Thursday: I slept the whole way to Barcelona, we arrived about 11:00, and took a cab to the Hotel Condestable.  The Hotel Condestable had an amazing bathroom, but was otherwise rather sad and shabby with graffiti on the doors and paper thin walls that made it sound as if the man in the next room was actually snoring in my bed.  

ANYWAY, we took another Hop on/ Hop off tour and saw pretty much all Barcelona could offer us in two days.  We visited the Sagrada  Familia, which is the magnificent and unfinished cathedral by Gaudi.  It is over 100 years in the making and only halfway finished.  We also visited Gaudi's Parque Guell, the Palau Reial and Paellons Guell and Barcelona's futbol club.  All of these sights were amazing, we were near the ocean, and it was a great tour, but the weather somehow made Barcelona a lot less glamorous than Madrid had seemed to be.  I was still stuck in tacky, makeshift cold weather clothes and shivering about town in sad, sad tennis shoes.  I snacked on a grocery store dinner.

Friday: Somehow, today I slept until 10:30 AM, and it was completely lovely.  We started out hop on/ hop off tour rather late, but the weather was rather better and everything seemed a bit more positive.  We saw the Olympic ampi-theatre, and rode the Teleferic (air trolly) to the top of Montjuic so that we could see all of Barcelona and the ocean from this medieval fort of protection.  Of course, it was raining and cold at the top with even a bit of fog to block the view.  We visited the Barrio Gotic, went to the flea market and then toured the Catedral of Barcelona, which is their oldest church built close to the sea so that sailors could visit upon disembarking.  It was beyond medieval ornate and the church is still very much in use with people coming in and out for confession as we were touring.  We got in early, packed our bags and prepared ourselves for a 6 AM flight to Munich.

Saturday: We cut our connection from Munich to New York rather too close, the overseas films were just awful, I slept a  bit and made it home at 4 PM on Saturday.  

 No jet lag so far!!!

Thursday: Day Off

So Thursday was my day off, because it was Ivan's last day of nursery school, a whirlwind of errands, a sushi run, and early pick up for Ivan.  It was a zoo.  When Ivan had his impetigo sickness, I felt like we were trapped in the house, bored to tears and staring at each warily.  On a day like today, I longed for that slow of a day.  Once ready to leave the house, I hustled Ivan off to nursery school with no time for dwaldeling or playing with the automatic door or chatting with the nursery school moms.

I hurtled downtown for a doctor's appointment, then off the the knit shop to pick up a project to take to Spain !!!!.  (Just so you know, it is very hard to take something like needlepoint on a plane, but when you take a bit of knitting, it is quite portable.  On an overseas flight, you have to have something to do with your hands, as you can only read for so long.) After knitting, I filled up the car with gas and then headed to the grocery store.  I cannot help but notice that every time I take Ivan to the grocery store, I spend at least 10 more dollars than necessary on things to placate Ivan and things to relieve my stress.  Also, I stay there for what seems like HOURS.  Ivan complains and wants to look at things, and the trip is ALL OVER if there happens to be a lobster tank.  Ivan can waste a good hour in front of a lobster tank, and if he happens to get away from me by crawling out of the cart or wrenching out of my hand, he runs straight back to the lobster tank.  He loves a lobster tank.  Balloons are also a problem, and overall, I think that my three year old is just not a very focused shopper.

So, I was able to knock out grocery shopping, before hitting my sushi place.  I am sushi-ed out and looking forward to swim tomorrow!!

Wednesday: Swim, Gilad and Yoga

So, last night, I was again embroiled in crossword puzzle drama, and for the record, I would like for Will Shortz to understand that, a) fruit is not really a great crossword puzzle theme, and b) a raisin is not a fruit, it is a dried fruit.  It really had me stumped.

Now, this morning, we got out the door in reasonable time, and Ivan the Great was more than well-behaved.  His reward were some delicious vending machine animal crackers. Except in the type of drama that often describes my vain attempts to get to swim on time, some vile gym prankster had stuffed the coin slot with the remnants of a styrofoam cup so that the quarters went into the machine, but would not register on the digital dial.  No animal crackers.  Young Sloan was beside himself with bitterness and angst, and there was really nothing to be done.  The desk attendant gave me THE PHONE NUMBER OF THE VENDING MACHINE OWNER, as if that would help me in any way. I honestly wanted to lay down on the floor and cry.

Ivan was so sad and disappointed that I was completely stricken with guilt at leaving him in the nursery.  I had already decided that if he was still unhappy when we got to the nursery, I would just take him home and stop at the grocery to pick out a treat.   AND THEN, like a fairy with a wand, Donnie (the great!!!) used his maintenance tools to unstick the coin slot, and was kind enough to bring me my change, and we let Ivan walk back down and get his animal crackers.  My swim was SAVED!!!!  Ivan honestly skipped into the nursery to show Miss Cameron his animal crackers.  It was lovely!!

I was late to the pool deck after the great vending machine debacle, but at least I was able to swim.  I worked on my butterfly, and we had several short distance interval swims, which in my opinion, just eat up a workout.  I ended up getting in about 2300-2400 meters, which is not as much as I should get in, but for today, it was completely acceptable.  

At home, I got in a Gilad workout and some much needed Yoga before heading into work, and then parking it on the couch to watch The Kennedy's on The Reelz channel.  It is whatever, and Joe Kennedy is clearly the devil.  My exercise plans for tomorrow are undetermined and maybe non-existent.  

Thursday: Day Off of Sorts

This morning, I had two appointments, lunch plans, an appointment with a needle wizard to discuss tailoring all of my jeans, and a visit with my parents.  In fact, why did I begin the previous sentence with "This morning", because "This morning" bled into 4:00 in the afternoon with a sobbing child and some serious grumpiness eminating from every pore on my body.

The most unfortunate part of a day full of errands like this is that I did not have a stay at home sitter, I did have some help at my first two appointments, but otherwise, Sloan the Younger was IN TOW.  I would love to count the number of times that I snapped and unsnapped all the car seat harnesses.  It seems like several thousand.

My appointments went well.  Lunch was great in that I had lunch with my mom, a wedge salad, and a buffalo burger that rocked my world.  Lunch was bad, because Sloan IV was having some bathroom issues that resulted in a lot of crying, trips to the bathroom to change diapers and all over grumpiness.  When I sat back down from the bathroom, after changing Young Sloan, I couldn't remember if I washed my hands, and I was so hungry and tired that I didn't care.  Is that where the long slow downward spiral starts?  Is the next stop giving up personal hygiene and living amongst garbage cans.

 The trip to see Mary Varallo (Needle Wizard extraordinaire!!!) was lovely as Young Sloan slept in the car and then sat placidly in an arm chair eating gummy bears while I discussed denim as if it were world peace.  In a week, I will be in possession of a wardrobe of denim that looks as if it were made for me personally.

The trip to see my parents (and yes, I know I just had lunch with my mom, but they live close to Mary Varallo and it was easy to pop in on the way home) was a drama, as Sloan IV was tired and irritable.  He was happy for moments and then fell apart only to cry the entire way home.  At home, we watched Toy Story 3, which I am told is really sad, but I was so glazed and miserable with Sloan IV sitting in my lap also glazed and miserable that it just looked like a cowboy and a space character and a lot of "Whoa Whoa Whoa!!!!".

Swim tomorrow and let's hope for a slower day.

Wednesday: Swim

It occurs to me that regardless of the fact that yesterday was Fat Tuesday, I was RATHER cavalier with my carbs.  The Fat Tuesday pancake dinner was one thing, but I also had a bit of a muffin meltdown in Bible study, and that much refined flour just cannot be good for my constitution.  Today, I have not really felt in my zone and you know, I cannot help but blame my Bisquick level carbohydrate consumption.  Today has been rather better, and I gotten more than my servings of fruits and vegetables and even a glass of V8.

Now, this morning, we were out the door to swim on time, we arrived on time, Sloan the Younger walked into the gym all of his own accord which is a small wonder.  Typically, I stagger into the gym carrying my swim bag, swim toys, diaper bag, some sort of beverage for swim and balanced on the tippy top of the pile is my child.  It is a Herculean effort every morning and I generally count it as one-eighth of my workout.  Today, is was an easy walk in.

At swim, I was on deck on time and got in about 2800 meters:

• 200 swim
• 200 kick
• 200 IM
• 200 pull
• 6 x 50 choice @ 1:00
• 12 x 25 alternate back/ breast @ :35
• 3 x 100 IM @ 1:45
• 8 x 75 free build 1:30
• 3 x 200 descend @ 3:30
• 300 swim cool down

At home, it seems that my mounds of paperwork have made me forget about Gilad and Yoga, which are both pretty important and needs be re-added.  

Monday: Swim and Gilad

Confession: I finished the Girl Scout Cookies before noon today.  It is over now, there is no more damage that can be done, and I can think about other things.  I have to move on.  I also had a little pop-tart meltdown and it turned out to be a rather bad day in terms of my consumption now that I think about it.  I bought fancy organic pomegranete pop-tarts, and as of today, I have officially eaten ALL OF THEM.  Young Sloan refuses pop-tarts and there was no other option but for his mother to ingest them before swim, on top of her smoothie.  Also, I was pretty immersed in my Fall of Giants last night and I stayed up a bit late, which did not help my morning even remotely.  Very bleary and far too much food.

Did I cramp up a bit in the pool and decide that this is definitely the reason that children are asked to wait 30 minutes before swimming after they eat?  For sure. I was very concerned that good old Steven was going to have to use his rusty life-guarding skills to to dredge me out of the pool.  Steven had a hard workout for us, and it ended up being about 2900 meters for me. Workout as follows:

• 12 x 25 @ :30
• 6 x 50 @ 1:00
• 5 x 100 @ 1:45
• 3 x 50 kick
• 1 x 200 
• 3 x 50 kick
• 1 x 200
• 3 x 50 kick
• 1 x 200
• 4 x 25 IM order @:30
• 1 x 100 IM
• 4 x 25 IM order
• 1 x 200 IM
• 3 x 200 swim

It was a good swim, though I was slower, but then I am DIALING IT DOWN, so no big thing.

At home, I worked about the house and for penance in regard to my morning fare, I had a spinach salad with turkey for dinner and I am hoping all will be well tomorrow!!  Gilad in the afternoon!!

Speed Session at 6:00 AM. 

Friday: Sickness, Swim and Run

So this morning, sickness was indeed upon us and it was necessary to load the both of us in the car and hot-step it over to the doctor's office where we sat amongst the sick and contagious until we were seen by Dr. Bastian (The great!!).  It seems that Young Sloan has a run of the mill cold/cough virus that probably did not even necessitate a doctor's visit, but abuser of the American healthcare system that I am, I toted us in.

At home, Sloan the Younger napped and alternated between irritable and manic as he moved in and out of fever.  We were ultimately stranded at home all day and I read the vogue spring issue cover to cover while we sat on the couch watching inane cartoon from videos on Apple TV.  I read the Lady Gaga article (she speaks perfect French), I read the I was raised in a cult article (it was the same Family of God cult that turned out the Phoenix family), I read the Starved for Love article ( I swear there is an eating disorder article in every other if not every issue of Vogue.), I read the South Korea: Epicenter of the Shopping Universe article.  I have one article left to read about iphone health apps. This particular issue is 574 pages long, so the fact that I mowed through all of it is indicative of today's couch time.

Needless to say, sick children are unwelcome in the gym nursery, so we stayed home all day but for our outing to the doctor.  It was quite the long day.

In the evening, when help arrived home, I betook myself to the gym and ran three miles on the treadmill before getting in a mile swim: 400 swim, 400 IM, 800 pull.  Again, it feels so great to get in a swim after a run.  Post workout, I maximized my time away from the house by heading to Sweet CeCe's for some frozen yogurt.  While Sweet Cece's probably has better frozen yogurt than Yogurt World, I still like Yogurt World better.

Not running with my running group tomorrow.  Hanging at home with Mr. Sick.

Sunday/Monday: Swim, Swim and Gilad

So last night, I had too much fun to blog.  My day kicked off at the Nashville zoo where we saw the baby meer cats, turtle fornication, and every other zoo thing that you can imagine.  At home, there was much cooking and taking of food before I headed out to swim at breakneck speed as is my habit.

At Sunday tri-swim, we are still doing a lot of out of the pool stuff and so our yardage was somewhat less.  There was a good bit of butterfly kicking and mid-pool starts.  I was worn out when we finished, but the main event was yet to come!!

Last night, I got together with friends to watch the last installment of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest.  Lisbeth Salander had all sorts of surliness lined up to help along her crime fighting friends.  The movie would have been impossible to follow without having read the books, but it was a great watch.  Such fun!!

This morning, Young Sloan and I were up earlier than usual, and he was unusually accommodating about leaving the house and we made it to swim on time.  I was standing on the pool deck at 8:30AM, and I was swimming by a little before 8:40.

It is of little surprise to me that I got in 3800 meters before I climbed out of the pool.  It was actually a pretty hard workout and some of the intervals were intense an I had to adjust them for me.  Workout as follows:

• 600 warmup swim
• 6 x 50 drill swim
• 8 x 25 fast
• 3 x 50 descend @ :55
• 4 x 100 @ 1:40
• 3 x 50 @ :55
• 4 x 200 @ 3:30
• 6 x 75 (odd back/ even free)
• 6 x 50 kick
• 500 pull

From the pool, we headed out to the park for the first pretty day of what will one day soon be spring.  The park was a barrage of smug mommies.  Everyone was criticizing the snacks that the other mothers had brought for their children.  The mothers of some children thought that the mothers of other children should not allow their children to climb so high on the jungle gym.  Some mothers thought that if your child bumped into their child it was an accident, and some mothers thought that if your child had bumped into their child, it was SURELY on purpose and with a heart full of mendacity.  Some mothers allowed much screaming and other mothers insisted on quiet voices.  

Young Sloan climbed the highest jungle gym and actually assaulted someone in the sandbox with a stick.  It was unfortunate, but we had stern talks and sad sad consequences and our day was none the dimmer for it.  Once home, Sloan the Younger was zipped into his bed where he refused to nap and therefore committed all of us to a long night of irritability.  

Speed sessions start tomorrow!!

Monday: Saints Preserve Us

Honestly, Saints Preserve Us from a day like today, it snowed last night and it really pretty much shut down my life.  Ivan and I really could not go outside, we were all at home all day, and I feel that it was a day of avarice and mendacity for all concerned.  Ivan somehow poured honey in my pressurized wine bottle opener, and he stuck my citrus juicer into a candle.  He was walking around with a bulge around his ankles, and when I asked him about it,  he looked at me as if to say "For serious? You would rather start a street fight in a Mexican ghetto than try to get to the bottom of what is in my pajamas", before taking off running and having to be tackled.  It was only a few toys shoved down his pajama leg, but how is that comfortable and why must you fight, as if for your life,  when I check it out.

I mean honestly, sometimes when I change my son's diaper, I am amazed by the fight he puts up.  When I see the effort, I cannot help but realize that he puts in the same amount of effort into not having his diaper changed that I would put into saving my own life if someone was trying to stab me with a knife.  It is an epic struggle.

Anyway, the rest of my day was just one of milling about the house and aimlessly answering emails, needlepointing, drinking coffee, thinking it was 5:00 in the evening when really it was only 2:00 in the afternoon, and wondering why the clock would not budge.  I huddled in front of the space heater while I watched the conclusion of Masterpiece Theatre's newest mini-series, Downton Abbey.

As far as I can tell, Downtown Abbey is going to be a four part series, and I am just about beside myself. There is nothing that I love more than a British tale about the difficulties of entail and decline in the time period of the vanishing manor house lifestyle pre-World War I. This mini-series is going to be extra fabulous in that it covers the lives of the nobility and the lives of household staff at Downton Abbey.  Last night was just enthralling, and I am so thrilled to have three more episodes.

Now, the problem with too much Masterpiece Theatre, is that I am overwhelmed with the desire to increase my usage of words like rather, and queue, and pudding.  I also start to get in the habit of calling men by their title and last name as if there were my 6th grade teacher.  It is ridiculous, and I have to physically stop myself.

Anyway, I did ride the trainer today, but I am writing a whole separate post about that because I have a whole lot to say.




                  

Friday: Swim and Church Casseroles

This morning Ivan and I were at swim reasonably on time only to find the absence of our regular swim coach.  Now, I cannot help but realize that we have beaten our regular swim coaches (Dennis and Steven) down.  They have given up on trying to make us work hard.  They know that we will come to swim practice and refuse to do any fast intervals and probably kick a lot with our kick-boards so that we can talk about books and kids and such.  I can understand that we would be frustrating to our swim coaches and they would for sure give up.  

Today, however, Gretchen was our swim coach and Gretchen REFUSES to be beaten down.  If we try to shirk doing something, Gretchen refuses us.  She rarely lets us kick, and it is just her way.  Gretchen does not coach us very often, however.  If she did,  she might also get beaten down by our insistence on kicking and our refusal to do hard intervals or even attempt the butterfly or any sort of kicking without fins.  

Anyway, today Gretchen made us take off our fins and kick 20 x 25 with the kick board.  It was excruciating and my inner thighs were aching.  We also did 5 x 200 at a 1:20 pace, which I wasn't even making at the end.  It was a hard workout, and I need to do more hard swim workouts. I don't know if I should talk to Steven and just tell him to yell at us when we refuse to do something or tell us that we have to do it or what.  I think it would be hard to coach adults, as you can make kids follow orders but adulthood is a little more slack on the authority front.  SO, I guess it really comes  back to me needing to have the self discipline to follow a workout and not deviate from the workout based on personal laziness and my preference for kicking.

We got in about 3300 meters, and it was pretty great. 

At home, I spent my afternoon making three casseroles for the church freezer, so that they can take them to shut-ins and people who have had illnesses in their family.  I made a wild rice and chicken casserole, and when I finished it, I felt that the badness in these casseroles was more than any human system could tolerate.  I just do not feel that you can put mayonnaise, cream of celery soup, cheddar cheese together in any combination and think that things are going to turn out well for you.  

Albeit, I tasted one of the casseroles, and it was delicious in that scary way that means you might sit down and eat the whole thing without knowing what happened.  It was creamy and ambiguous when you tasted it, like you could not tell why exactly it was creamy.  Was it heavy cream, whipping cream, mayo, some strange cheese, or milk or what?  It tasted like the kind of thing that might be delicious after a long illness and your final arrival at home.  

Run and Gilad tomorrow!!

Book Report: The Times We Had by Marion Davies

So, I have a Hearst thing, and if you have ever been to San Simeon you also have a Hearst thing.  The magnitude, the weirdness, the Davies/Hearst relationship; it is all just too fascinating for words.  The night that I ran the Huntsville marathon, I watched a film about William Randolph Hearst and Orson Welles and the whole Citizen Kane thing.  Then, the following night, I watched a documentary about Marion Davies.  The film about Hearst and Welles was all about the desperate stab that William Randolph Hearst took at stopping the release of Citizen Kane. Hearst could not stop it, because he filed for bankruptcy and could not free up funds to pay a lawyer for a seemingly frivolous law suit.  The Susan Alexander character in Citizen Kane was of course supposed to be modeled after Marion Davies with the only difference being that Marion was a stage and film actress, not an opera singer and Marion never left Hearst.

Now, the documentary, was narrated by Charlize Theron and produced by Hugh Hefner.  It sort of makes sense that Hugh Hefner would feel that it was his personal responsibility to take up for all the sixteen-year-olds in the world who take up with married 60 year old men.  So that kind of cracked me up, but it was an interesting documentary.  The whole thing talked about Marion Davies' intelligence and talent as an actress, and I guess as a silent film star she was not afraid to do slapstick comedy.

SO, watching these two films inspired me to purchase Marion Davies autobiography, The Times We Had. Let me just tell you, it just about Hearsted me out.  Now, Orson Welles wrote the introduction to the book, which seemed like a bit of a kick in the pants to old William Randoph Hearst who was deceased at the time of the writing and publication.  I can only fathom that Welles agreed to write it out of some deep personal guilt he felt out of portraying Marion Davies so accurately on film after trespassing on her kindness for several weeks at San Simeon.  Welles alludes to this much in his intro, blaming himself for the public perception of Marion Davies. (I am not EVEN going to tell you what I found out that "Rosebud" was purported to mean. It is just too much.) Welles may have had something to do with it, BUT he was right on the money.  He did not represent her falsely right down to the jigsaw puzzles that were her primary source of solitary amusement.  Reading and playing cards were not within her realm of ability.

The Times We Had was a deep deep disappointment.  It is the epitome of what happens when someone is famous for the wrong reasons, and someone convinces her to write a book about it.  As far as I could tell, she was so low and unable to manage her own life that the best thing that ever happened to her was having someone who was reasonably smart and well seated like Hearst scoop her up, silence her and keep her out of as much trouble as he could.  The trouble he could not keep her out of, he could at least keep out of the papers.

Now the book was probably written in her alcoholic heyday, but even accommodating that misfortune, it is poorly written.  It appears to be the work of someone who is trying to cover up/ explain what she wants you to hear, but she does not realize that you kind of know the real story. For instance, she explains the mysterious death or Thomas Ince at San Simeon by saying "I was really furious about the Thomas Ince story. Tom was sick for two days and then died. It (the idea that W.R. Hearst had killed Ince in a fit of jealousy) was the most ridiculous story I ever heard in my life, but when you have an association with a very well known man like W.R. (Hearst) you are bound to get it."

That is sort of how most of the book runs.  Marion explaining that people thought Hearst had done one thing or another, but he really had not; everyone was happy; everything was perfect.  BUT, there are countless instances of Hearst going back to New York to visit his wife and family for however long he felt like being away and leaving Marion with a sitter who made sure that she did not get too drunk or sleep with anyone else.  They had a child, but Hearst insisted she stay a secret, so the child (Patricia Van Cleve Lake) was sent to live with Marion's sister and Marion went on living the way that Hearst insisted that she live.

I guess it was the story of this sort of lost and wayward life that was swept into the overpowering trajectory that was life with William Randolph Hearst and absorbed by it.  To let go of a life, a child, and sublimate any desire that you might have to do anything of your own accord, to have no expectations of your life partner but that he take care of you materially is rather stunning and the fact that her life devolved into alcoholism after Hearst's death is not at all surprising.  She was not allowed at the funeral, and she was largely ignored by his estate.

Rather amazing though, Hearst's money troubles, which stemmed from failing magazines, the upkeep of San Simeon and purchase upon foolish purchase of European art that he could not even store, were pulling him under financially.  Marion went of her own accord, so she says, to Hollywood from San Simeon and sold much of the jewelry that Hearst had given her, coming up with one million dollars to help pull his finances to a manageable state. (The receipt for it is published in the book.) Hearst could not bear to part with any of his collections, and Marion took things into her own hands.  It was pretty amazing and maybe the greatest example of Marion's total submission to Hearst's selfishness.  She was not a partner really, she was a pet in the worst sense of the word.

It was a rather depressing read, but in true Betsy Sloan form I insisted on trudging through to the end.  OH, and the other interesting thing was that the book's editors ended up writing lengthy notes on most every page to try to explain and decipher Marion's stories and personal history and bad grammar and incomplete tellings of various things.

Yeah, so do not read this book.  Read something else.

Book Report: Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln by Doris Kearns Goodwin

Since sometime in the summer, July I think, I have been pretty immersed in Team of Rivals.  It was my first read by Doris Kearns Goodwin, and it was just a phenomenal read about a phenomenal man.  The crux of the book is how Lincoln put together a cabinet of men who had run against him in the Presidential elections or been unkind to him in his early professional life and used them to power through a terrible war and inspire the respect and love not only of those close to him but of a nation.

Lincoln's ability to delay his reactions, to think before he spoke, to relinquish the personal pain inflicted by others and to speak and act with a complete absence of pride and always the presence of humility made him seemingly a divine choice to be our 16th president.  On page 174 Goodwin states that Lincoln revealed "a singular ability to transcend personal vendetta, humiliation, or bitterness."  That statement sums up Lincoln's behavior with everyone in his life: his wife, his children, his colleagues and his enemies. He could let it all go and do the right thing EVERY TIME.  He did not look to satisfy or avenge.  He truly lived a life of forgiveness and putting others first in every situation.

In fact, the only criticism that I would have of Lincoln is that he should sometimes have acted faster.  He should have moved McClellan out as Major General earlier.  McClellan accomplished nothing for too long, but Lincoln gave him the benefit of the doubt.  He should have allowed Salmon Chase, the Secretary of the Treasury, to resign the first time he turned in a resignation letter, but he continued to be kind to him over and over even after he attempted to undermine Lincoln's reelection campaign which would have been devastating to a country at war.

When the South surrendered, Lincoln encouraged Grant to let Jefferson Davis (the president of the Confederate States) know that if he disappeared out of the country it would be best.  Lincoln had no desire to punish he and the other Confederate officers. Goodwin wrote well about how the South lost its greatest ally when Lincoln was assassinated; there was no one else who would have been as lenient.

I learned to really love and respect Ulysses S. Grant and and William T. Sherman.  They saw their jobs through to the end, forging ahead where McClellan had cowered. They had the great foresight to see that without decisive action they could not get to the end of the war and thus the end of the massive loss of life.  Also, they were not divas, they were low-key and worked hard.

I have so many favorite stories from Team of Rivals, but one that best illustrates Lincoln might be the time when he visited the front and there was not a horse his size, but he was determined to ride out and express his gratitude to the troops, so he climbed on the tiny horse that was available (maybe it was a mule) and his legs were too long for the stirrups so his legs just hung.  This made his pants ride up to his knees and his socks and legs were exposed and the soldiers all laughed, and he laughed with them.  He had no personal vanity that would have stopped him from making sure that every soldier felt appreciated.

I liked Mary Todd better than I thought.  She was horrible and made a hard life harder for Lincoln, but she put in a lot of hours working at the military hospitals and she lost three dear children and the remaining child committed her to an asylum later in life.  She did not have an easy time of it.

I think what most strikes me is that there was no one who should have had a leisurely retirement surrounded by his children more than Lincoln.  The tragedy of his loss for our country and just for the dear man that he was is so senseless that it hurts.  Doris Kearns Goodwin paints a picture of a man that you cannot help but love and feel drawn to. His death was incredibly emotional as there are quotes from his devastated cabinet members and the people who knew him best.

Having read American Lion earlier this year about Andrew Jackson, I cannot help but compare the trajectories of the two men.  It is ironic that Andrew Jackson, who spent most of his life alternately chasing and deserving death, lived to old age and died at home in his bed, while Lincoln who spent his life doing the opposite, should be taken from a family and country that needed him when he was quite young really.

I feel that this book is a must read, but it is a big commitment.

Sunday: 5000 meter swim and Potty Training is a Bust

So this morning, I was forced to go to a stack of books and the internet for help with my potty training situation that is apparently going nowhere.  Ivan and I had a day long battle of the wills, and it seems that I may have lost.  According to the following Mayo CLini Potty Training questionare, if I answered no to most of the following questions, I should discontinue potty training.

• Does your child seem interested in the potty chair or toilet, or in wearing underwear? (Ivan informs me that the answer this is an emphatic "NO")
• Can your child understand and follow basic directions? (Oh yes, but will he??)
• Can your child ask simple questions? (Indeed, he can shout "WANT MY DIAPER" at his mother all day long)
• Does your child stay dry for periods of two hours or longer during the day? Does he or she wake from naps dry? (For the love of Mike, NO! Is that not why we are potty training.  Is not a child who naturally holds their excretions already potty trained by virtue of the acquired skill??)
• Does your child have fairly predictable bowel movements? (Not so much)
• Does your child tell you through words, facial expressions or posture when he or shm,le needs to go? (Never, Never, Never and if I suspect and ask, he denies)
• Is your child uncomfortable in wet or dirty diapers? (No, he loves a wet or dirty diaper and as I found yesterday, enjoys wet or dirty baby boxer shorts almost as much)
• Can your child pull down his or her pants and pull them up again?  (He can, yes, but if not closely attended, "pull down" pants are pulled off and someone may take off running through the house only to urinate in Daddy's office or in his train table bins.  He is best at telling me in which area of our home he has decided to, if not ruin, cause many moments of carpet cleaning.)

So what does all this mean?  Does it mean that I should stop potty training right now, and start up again after Christmas.  I just don't know.  I am going to poll a few friends, do a bit more research and I will get back to you.  

In other news, I went back to swim today after a week long hiatus of convelescing my sinus infection.  I went back, because today was 50 x 100 swim, which was so much fun.  We actually did it on two minute intervals this year, which was great for me since I had been sick, but I really liked getting in the yardage at a more challenging pace last year. 

Anyway, after swimming 5000 yards, I got the best nights sleep I have gotten since the night of my marathon, and I am a huge fan of a great night's sleep.  

Friday: Christmas Marathon

Oh yes friends, today was the day that I wore two Christmas outfits and Ivan wore two Christmas smocks, and we went hardcore holiday.  First on the roster was Ivan and I's attendance at a Christmas tea.  Now, this was insane of me to even attempt, but sometimes I have a terrible memory lapse of how bad the last event was and I try to take Ivan.  Today, I knew it was time to leave when I thought Ivan was standing beside me while a woman in a beautiful pair of quilted Chanel pumps was telling me about potty training her children.  Now, she had not really potty trained her children, it appeared to me that the "help" had potty trained when I heard the full story.  AND, can we just talk about how why is it that your child always does something horrible when you are standing beside a woman wearing Chanel pumps who has perfect children.

Anyway, of course, Ivan was not standing right beside me and when I found him, he was in the hostess' bathroom at the vanity mirror with her tub of moisturizer that is WAY out of my price range, just moisturizing away.  His cheeks, legs, arms and coat were well moisturized, and I, Betsy Sloan, was forced to clean up her bathroom and my child as if I were the "help" and then apologize to everyone and vacate the premises like a common vagrant.




From the tea, Ivan and I went for a visit with friends, which went reasonably well.  He did spill his bottle in the bathroom, but they were good friends, and they probably knew that was coming. After a great nap at home, Ivan and I headed in to have a picture made with Santa Claus.  While we did have the usual mall shenanigans, and yes, Ivan did manage to hop into someone else's picture with Santa Claus.  We made a reasonable picture and headed home where potty training began.

Now, I will say that when your child is asking you to put on their diaper so that they can go to the bathroom, they have some idea of how to control the emissions.  So, I felt that was a good part of Ivan's training.  During the two hours that I potty trained this afternoon, Ivan asked for his diaper repeatedly before looking at me with GREAT resentment and heading to the potty.  I, meanwhile, cheered harder than any Spartan cheerleader ever did for everything that hit the toilet bowl.  No accidents so far though.

After two hours of cheering, encouraging, checking the corners and behind all the doors to make sure that all of Ivan's potty entries had indeed gone into the potty, my nerves were rather frayed.  It had been a long day and a woman in Chanel pumps had told me that she had perfect children.  SO, I met my friend Missy out for the most fun holiday drinks of all time and when asked, I might have said, "Why yes, I will have another!!"

All day potty training tomorrow.  See you there,

Wednesday: Sickness

So I have a sinus infection, which left me to spend my morning in front of the television with Ivan watching Curious George, his favorite cartoon du jour.  I have many thoughts about Curious George, but I have decided that they all boil down to the fact that George is a menace, with some strain of Conduct Disorder.  It would be so terrible to have Curious George as your pet or your surrogate child as it is.  The Man In The Yellow hat is late to work on daily basis if he makes it in at all based on George's shenanigans.  There is not one instant that you can take your eyes off of George, because as soon as you do, he is letting the elephant out of the zoo or getting on the wrong train and heading for the hills.  The Man In The Yellow Hat is CONSTANTLY about to have a coronary, and it cannot be good for his health.  After watching a couple of episodes yesterday, I decided that George's behavior was clinically significant.

I do not feel that The Man In The Yellow Hat was completely knowledgeable when he agreed to adopt George.  He does not appear to be married and he has no help with the care of George and it seems that there are no daycare centers in proximity of their apartment.  The way things are going for The Man In The Yellow Hat, I cannot imagine that he will be allowed to continue to live in his apartment for much longer.  George is literally hanging out of the window or making some horrible cacophony of sound at every minute that has surely come up in board meetings. Not to mention that one day he stole ALL the recycling bins in the building and made some foul smelling compost IN THE APARTMENT that drew all types of insects and appeared to damage the carpet.

He and George need to throw up their hands, say they tried, and part company.  The Man In The Yellow Hat needs to move on, and George needs to be in an environment where he can receive the care he needs from professionals who can deal with whatever it is he has.

Anyway, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow and I see antibiotics in my future, and right at Christmas too.  Bleh