I know the kids are playing well, because it’s been fifteen minutes without a blood-curdling scream. The only thing yelled has been:
Batman, come quick! Your wife is having a baby!
I foresee trouble melding their play styles very, very soon.
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I actually got up this morning and went running by myself for about an hour. I say “about” because my exercise watch has disappeared and it probably won’t be until the Great Unpacking that I find it again. I haven’t gone running by myself for…let’s just say, easily 6 weeks, if not more.
I have been running, though. Rob comes down to my house on Thursday mornings, and I have standing invitations to join him for the Wildcat Trail at Rancho San Antonio on Tuesdays and Fridays. Last week I did both days. On Tuesday I managed to run all the way to the top; on Friday I could hardly breathe. I guess I was going too fast (which is sad, because my top speed is “slo-mo”). Gotta do hill training. Especially if we’re going to keep doing those trail runs.
The trick to getting up and getting out for me is not pep talks or self-beratement. It’s putting the exercise clothes out the night before. If I do that, I’m practically on the road already. If the clothes aren’t out, in the morning I wake up, think, It’s too hard to find the clothes in the dark and I couldn’t possibly turn on the light ’cause that would wake up Darin so I’d better just go back to sleep, and go back to sleep.
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I know the running’s having a teensy effect on me, because I went to Coffee Society at the Pruneyard today to write and got a 20-ounce green tea instead of my usual 20-ounce French vanilla latte. (Mind you, it’s a latte that lasts me three hours. But still.)
It’s funny to think that I go to write at Coffee Society, because I did that when the original opened in Cupertino millenia ago. For some reason, sitting in a cafe, drinking coffee (or green tea) and writing for hours is just my idea of a good time. If I’m home I need it quiet (except for music) to write. If I’m out, I need the hum and constant motion of a cafe. Go figure.
I was about to say that I’ve never gotten any writing done in a Starbucks, but this is not true: that was my writing joint in Sherman Oaks! That Starbucks (at Ventura Canyon) really went out of their way to make the place comfortable for writers, which was good because we were thick on the ground there. Seriously, best place for writers to network in LA: Starbucks. Just go over to the next laptop and ask what they’re working on.
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I made chicken pot pie for dinner. World’s best dinner for using leftovers. The kids immediately said, “Noooooooo.” I said, “It’s got chicken and peas and corn and pastry topping! You like all those things.” Sophia looked at me and said, “But I don’t like them mixed all together.”
Does this phase ever end?
I used to be the world’s pickiest eater, which is partially why I’m such a hardcase with the kids. You can eat this, or you can go without dinner, but I’m not making you something special. Darin reminds me that one night without dinner will not make them starve. And just maybe, after a few nights of not having dinner, they’ll actually try the food in front of them.
Or not. Apparently Batman is back to having marriage troubles. Better go see what’s going on.
Yes, yes and more yes. You’ll thank yourself later. 🙂 “This is not a restaurant” was my favourite phrase. And in dire circumstances, when my son refused to eat anything I cooked, we put plastic wrap over the plate and served it up for breakfast! I think he understood how serious I was after that. Now, at 15 he eats everything I dish out. In fact…embarrassingly enough at this point, he’s sick of the steady stream of takeaway that gets served when I’m interstate, and begged me to cook some vegies! 🙂 Brisbane, Australia (hence the takeaway)