To choose dry, clean clothes over wet, sandy ones.

To steer the kid away from the ocean rather than let him run in it.

To keep your own shoes and socks on rather than join them.

But think of the exploration, the memories, the joy that would be missed.

O my, are we ever having a great time in Oregon. Hiking, meals as a family, good wine, down time, beach trip, feeding horses, beautiful scenery, beautiful people.

(O, and free time to edit pictures and sleep in. I love grandparents.)

{For all of the posts about our upstairs remodel, click here. For the other two video tours, click here first, then here.}

:: :: :: Let’s chat. :: :: ::

Have any advice for me on clothing those naked walls?

What is your favorite decorating touch in your home?

“Turn down!”

“Turn down what, buddy?” I reach for the radio volume, assuming that he was not digging the Talk of the Nation program on NPR as much as I was.

“Da light. Turn down.”

We have several fading light switches in our house, including in the boys’ room, so the idea of fading the level of light is familiar to him. Except, we’re in the car.

“Buddy, there aren’t any lights on in here.”

“Da sun.”

“O! Buddy is the sun in your eyes?”

“Yes. Turn down da sun.”

“I’m sorry, bud, Mommy can’t turn down the sun.  I can’t tell the sun what to do; there’s no switch. Only God is in charge of the sun.”

“Pray?“

K, but here’s the thing.

THAT IS NOT WHAT WORKING OUT LOOKS LIKE.

It does not look like this:

or this:

or this:

(Seriously? Pushups with your hair down? Who do you think you’re fooling?)

Working out looks like a bright red splotchy face.

Working out looks like sweat circles on your armpits and yea, probably on your bra.

Working out looks like blowing snot rockets into the bushes because it’s been an hour and a half since you could blow your nose.

Working out looks like rocking unshaved legs with those running shorts because Mama don’t have time to shave AND run.

Working out looks like forgetting that you were wearing non waterproof mascara until you get home and look in the mirror.

Working out looks like taking a walking break with your arms above your head because you have a side ache.

Working out looks like having a spray trail up your back because it just rained and the path was wet.

Working out looks like this:

Sure, it’s a horrible picture of me and not worthy of tagging as “fitspiration”, but that’s ok, know why?

Because working out looks like not caring what working out looks like.

Merry Christmas! Love, O My Family

The day started slowly. Once the sun rose in the cloudless sky, it hit the snow in that way that makes it shimmer. It was nearly blinding. I brought the boys to the room in our house with the most natural light (our master) and we had a little fun.

What a joy it is to be their mommy. Happy (26th) birthday to me.

You aren’t a very good wife.

You should be nicer to your kids.

Those jeans don’t seem to fit that well.

How dare she? It’s not that I need things sugar coated, no, I do need honesty spoken into my life, but I need it to be presented in a constructive way. Perhaps with a plan or a gentle encouragement. This is not what she spits out at me. Hers are words of destruction, of cutting down, of malice, of judgment.

Her influence on my self image was strong. So desperate was DanO to help me see my beauty through her lies that my sweet husband had me put on cute outfits and took me out to do a photo shoot.

It worked for a little while, but it did not attack the root of the problem.

Why haven’t I just told her to get lost already?

Because she is me.

 It’s an incredible reminder to me to think that I would never in a million years let someone else speak to me that way. I would simply tell them not to let the door hit their behind on the way out. And yet a dozen times a day I say these things to myself.

But I’m working on it. I have called her out on it (her being my self-talk). I have begun to tell her to kindly stuff it. Are there areas in which I need improvement, patience, grace, perseverance, self-control? Always. But her words do not aim with a purpose, they aim to hurt. They are not welcome here.

When was the last time you told her to shut up?

{This post was inspired by a message I heard last week at MOPS.}

Hang on. Could you excuse me for a moment?

{{{BAHAHAHAHA HALF MARATHON TRAINING. HAHA. I’M TRAINING FOR A HALF MARATHON. HA!}}}

K, sorry about that. I had to, uhm. I had a tickle in my throat. Where was I?

O, yea.

As part of my training to run a half marathon, I wanted to do an ‘in the meantime’ race for a little excitement, motivation, and challenge. You can only log so many road run miles solo (and/or pushing a jogging stroller) before running loses it’s sparkle. And really, doesn’t everything, running included, need a little more sparkle?

So for funsies I signed up for a women’s 5K this last Sunday. Apparently I just up and do this kind of thing now.

2 years ago when OBoy was 12 weeks old, I did another 5K event, but the one I ran yesterday was so different for me. The last 5K I ran was with a friend, this one I signed up for and ran solo. It was just me vs. the pavement, which, being the extrovert I am, I wouldn’t think would be my thing but it really was. I was able to focus on the race and pushing myself to my goals.

This event also had a lot more excitement and a lot more people. The course was an out-and-back loop, and as the first finishers started to pass those of us still going out, the runners would cheer for each other. I heard so many “Good work, ladies!” “Keep it up!” “You’re almost there!”s. It was a great feeling to be a part of that.

{O My Lanta I’m such a dork.}

Really, Allison? You just ran 3.2miles and you put a big goofy grin on your face to pose for a picture? (At the time my thought was that it’s better than the “I’m about to die” expression.)

I guess my face here is not too far from how I was feeling, though. At this point (DanO snapped this right before I crossed the finish line) I was getting my first taste of a runner’s high. At the onset of this race, I told myself that I would not walk a single step of the course. My goal was not technical and didn’t involve pace or finish time, just a tangible challenge to myself to keep picking up my feet.

Left, right, left, right…

And right here I’m thinking O MY SHINS, I DID IT!!!

(I’m also rocking out to Lady Gaga. Respect.)

In the end my pace was 11:39min/mile and I finished in 36:11. I ran every single step. I am dang proud of that.

Second best part of the race (besides accomplishing something I set out to do) was DanO and the boys’ support. Will you please just look at my baby daddy, wearing it up with the ring sling? And my boys in their matching pumpkin hats, there to watch Mommy cross the finish line (and eat some of her free snacks)?

That is just a whole bunch of awesome right there.

(If I do say so myself.)

All this to say, I’m starting to… ::looks over shoulder:: I think I’m starting to like running.  In the running I have done, high school track, soccer, even a cross-state relay with my dad once, the physical part has never been the biggest challenge for me. It has always been the mental facet – giving up before my body really needed to – and I think I might be starting to get the upper hand in that department.

Which is good, because 13.1 miles waits for no one.