What would George eat?

If you're wondering what runs through Luke's mind as he is going to bed at night (and I know you were), here's a little insight: Last night as I was tucking him in he told me that he told his friend Lucy that he would marry her someday.

Luke: "...And then Lucy told me that Eve is her best friend. But she can't marry Eve, because Eve is a girl. And a girl can't marry a girl. You have to be a man and a lady marrying each other. That's the law, right? Who made that law, George Washington?"
Me: "Uhhhh...."
[thoughtful pause]
Luke: "Mom, what does bald eagle taste like?"

We are currently lizard-sitting for our friends' bearded dragon named Lizzie. Lizzie is odd, prickly, cold, and somewhat smelly. And you have to feed her live mealworms. And she naturally carries salmonella, so after you touch her you have to scrub your hands with warm soapy water. In other words, not my ideal pet.

The boys were thrilled to bring her home last night, and Zach couldn't wait to touch her this morning, but now that the initial spark of interest has faded, it's basically my pet for the rest of the week. I guess it's OK, but in theory I don't love the idea of any pets in cages. I always feel bad for them, like they really would rather be out there in the world than stared at through glass by the rest of us. And every time Lizzie looks at me with her beady little eyes, I think she's plotting her escape out the top of the case, over the counter, onto the floor, -smoosh- under the door, and then off into the great sandy mealworm-y beyond.

We're also feeling a little sad in the void left behind when globe-trotting Grandma and Papa left for their glamorous train trip up the Pacific coastline. Fortunately, we had a long list of things on our to-do list, so Dave spent the day in the garage with Luke building a light saber and the "JB K-9 Walker" (an impressive machine for which Luke had spent days drawing up the plans); while Zach and I did some planting in the garden.

Zach seems to have moved one or two maturity levels up from last year. Example: Last year during our t-ball games, I spent the whole time chasing him around and holding him back from running out on the field. This year, he seems content to sit with me for the games and/or play with toys or explore. Oh, and we watch and commiserate with one of the other moms on the team, who spends the game chasing after her two-year-old boy.

Happily, this maturity extends to our work in the garden, where Zach has become super-serious and task-oriented about planting the seeds and watering the dirt. (I think back to last year, when he might have flung the seeds and watered himself or his brother.) After we put the seeds in the holes, he took extra-special care to pat the dirt gently on top of them ("putting the seeds to bed") and stood the markers exactly where we put the seeds (parsley, dill, carrots, zucchini, cucumbers, and melon, in case you're wondering).

Our compost pile is abuzz with decomposing-type activity, and even though it's smelly and covered with fruit flies, it's kind of fun to look down into it. It's kind of like going down memory lane and reviewing all of your past meals. Pretty soon we'll spread all of that richness over our garden. I've also sprouted an avocado pit in the kitchen and am hoping to grow a giant avocado tree as well. We are gearing up for an incredible home-grown feast at some point in the future, with fresh fruits and vegetables galore. But no bald eagle. Or mealworms, thank goodness.

26.2

If I mention that I feel completely spent, imagine how Dave must feel, after running more miles than I drove today (which is a lot).

But he did it, and even though it wasn't pretty, who cares? He put his mind to a goal, became incredibly self-disciplined toward reaching that goal, and crossed through the finish line in a blaze of glory.

I'd love to say more about how emotional it was to see him at the end of the race, about how the marathon is a good metaphor for many of the things he's got going on in his life right now, or about how my heart was so completely bursting with pride that it did this cartoon-like pounding outside of my chest as I walked alongside him after the race. But I won't. For now, I'm happy to just offer some pictures, and to say how proud I am of the hardest-working guy I know.

You rock, Marathon Man.

The human body

It's less than 48 hours until Dave's big race and I am sitting here contemplating how many calories we can stuff into him before he leaves. Those of you who haven't seen him lately probably wouldn't recognize him - he's a shadow of his former self. That is, if he can cast a shadow at all. He's mostly just skin and bones. But in a nice way. (Although just try to imagine what it's like living with someone who comes out of the bathroom in the morning saying, "I just cannot keep the weight on!")

In fact, in his fat-less state, I'm wondering how much collapse time he's going to need after the marathon. After my marathon (please stifle your yawns) 15 years ago, I had a nice lunch with everyone afterwards and then slept for four hours. With so many different demands on his time, Dave doesn't exactly have that luxury. Actually, Joe had a great idea about how Dave can use his marathon time most effectively: He's going to be running 26 miles anyway; he might as well do some errands along the way. (Cue the picture of Dave crossing the finish line carrying Trader Joe's and CVS bags.)

So on Sunday after the race we're going out to lunch and then everyone will come over for cake. Plus Elizabeth, who we can count on to participate in just about any adventure, is running the marathon too, so if she can drag herself over here she'll join in the cake-eating. Oh, and I'm going to make sure that it's extra high-calorie cake so that all of our intrepid runners can put some meat back on their bones.

If I talk about how great it is to have Mom and Dad here, it will sound like I am exaggerating. But try to imagine being able to have two weeks where you have two of your favorite people in the world with you at all times serving as helpers, confidants, and consultants. For example, last week I decided, somewhat out of the blue, to start a real garden in our backyard, where I had done some half-hearted plantings last spring. I also decided to start a little compost pile. Who knows why I haven't done it before. But all of a sudden I am filling up my compost bin daily, and I have two of the world's foremost compost experts at the ready. Mom points out - and I have to agree - that it is strangely exciting to watch the little pail fill up. Anyway, so I dug out our little garden area last week, and today they came with me to Home Depot to buy soil amendments and a new compost container for outside. We bought 88 cents' worth of seeds from the 99 Cents store (which is actually a lot of seeds) and I am now ready to have the most beautiful beans, melons, carrots, squash, and herbs in town - thanks to my expert consultants.

Odd little aside: Zach seemed bothered when he heard me calling my mom "Mom" earlier today. "Mommy, that is Grandma Joan," he told me. "You are you."

Luke is just a bundle of little surprises lately. My parents got him a copy of "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" and although it's just a level or two above what he's been reading lately, he's happily engaged in it (and Dave and Dad both love reading it to him, which is great). Also yesterday we all went over to the second-hand bookstore and Luke picked out a book on World War II, a book on castles, and a book on the Titanic. Yes, he is completely immersed (so to speak) in the story of the Titanic right now. Go figure.

This morning (continued after I wrote too long last night) we were all involved in the neighborhood 5K fun run for the school. Luke made the surprising decision to run rather than help at the water station, so he and I ran the race while Dave and Zach and my parents served as safety monitors at stations along the course. Amazingly, most of the other kindergarteners we knew were running too. And amazingly, they all (including Luke) made it 3.1 miles to the end of the course.

Of course, Luke took on the voice of someone 50 years his senior by complaining most of the way through the run/walk ("You know, my back is starting to hurt..." "I have this pain in my ribs..." "My knees are sore..." and by the end: "This fun run is not so much fun!"). But he made it to the finish line, got a medal, enjoyed some gelato, and then went on to play a great t-ball game and play at the park with his friends afterwards, so I'm pretty sure he'll survive. And if Dave makes it through tomorrow with flying colors, which I'm sure he will, we'll all have something to celebrate.

Rocky Road

Let's just get it all out there because I can't think of any really clever way to put this: Zach has been home sick for the past week with yet another sinus infection and I've been home with him, hands tied as far as getting anything else done. (The doc says we are about 3/4 of the way through the process in terms of deciding that antibiotics won't help any more and they will start talking to us about taking out his adenoids or tonsils. Not to get too far ahead of ourselves or anything.) We have planted Kleenex boxes in every room, and after having gone through about four boxes in the last four days, are regretting our decision not to buy stock in tissues sooner.

Fortunately, Mom and Dad arrived late on Thursday night, providing a new source of entertainment and two extra sets of hands to help out. And we had an over-loaded Saturday, with the first t-ball game, St. Patrick's Day parade, and a birthday party.

Luke's Tigers team, with Coach Dave at the helm, had a banner day on Saturday. Luke had a couple of great plays in the outfield plus a few good hits off the tee; Dave is once again poised to be Coach of the Year; Dad got some amazing pictures; Mom and Zach had a grand old time at the lake feeding the ducks; and I actually got a chance to watch most of the game. Oh, and Zach loved walking with his brother after the game, helping out the coach by carrying the first aid bag. If this is how it's gonna be, it's a vast improvement over last year.

Ninety minutes later, at the parade, the boys had the time of their lives because they got candy, saw a green dog, got candy, watched a giant green hat driving down the street, got candy, saw a Star Wars troop and some Irish setters marching (not together), and oh, hey - did I mention they got candy?

Yesterday we reveled in having nowhere to go by a certain time, so we took our time heading out to our favorite rocky beach, a.k.a. the dog beach, sans dog. Mom and Dad survived the hike down the cliffs and then we enjoyed a free-wheeling afternoon filled with interesting rocks, colorful parasailers flying by, and all sorts of creatures from anemones to starfish.

When it got to be about 5:00 (or was it really 6? Or 4? Who can tell on these time-changing days?) our tummies were rumbling so we ambled slowly back up the cliffs and packed our things back into the car. Then we jetted off to our favorite Croatian pizza place and had our picnic at the sea-cliff park.

This is the second time we've gone there just in time for sunset, when the wind is blowing like mad, and we're hopping around trying to stay warm. But we keep doing it for some reason, and it's still the best pizza in town. We hung around just long enough for the sun to touch the water so that Dad could get some good sunset pictures in, and then we packed up the cars once again and headed home.

Face time

Has anything happened since we last talked? Well, yes and no. I'm completely wrapped up in work for a new project, so I haven't been budgeting much time for Beach Bucket. Also, I was more than a little conflicted about whether or how to recognize March 2, the third anniversary of my Worst Day Ever (the day I was admitted to the hospital). I sort of want it to be forgotten, but each year I seem to feel this big March 2 pressure hanging over me. It was weighing heavily on my mind on Tuesday, so I actually mentioned it to Luke, and although he remembers me being in the hospital, he really has no recollection of that particular day or any other specifics. Which is almost certainly for the best.

So I just kind of spent the day doing lots of hugging, wistful sighs, and teary-eyed glances at everyone (in other words, pretty much a typical day for me). That night Zach woke up at 4:30 am, which is extremely unusual for him, and I was trying to get him to go back to sleep quietly without waking Luke up, but he kept cracking himself up about something funny that had happened earlier in the day. So it was impossible to be "mad" at him about waking up; and in fact my half-asleep mind was confused about how to feel: I want to go back to sleep, but I just love listening to this guy.

Thanks to Bill-o for the pictures. Hard to believe, but they're even cuter in person...