One More Down, Two to Go

Every day after work Briton comes home and rips off a link. When they're gone, it's 8 weeks of sabbaticalized vacation. He's been waiting for this for over seven years. He's even more excited than he looks in this picture.

(The chain on the right is the countdown for our trip to Eastern Canada with the kids. Thanks, guys, for letting your man-eating guard dog stay at our house while we're gone).

When a "Baa-Baa" is a Nose

"DO NOT ENTER,"

said the stomach.

We've been sick here, in turn, the past several days. Three days ago, the T-ball, who wouldn't turn down broccoli, wouldn't eat breakfast. Around 11 he managed some applesauce and toast (and milk - that was from me, the smart mom). Around 11:30 he wandered over to me and began hurling all stomach contents, including curdled milk. Nothing sadder than a sick kid. Thankfully, he was back to health the next day.

But the next day, Briton came home from work looking peaked. "I think I got what Talmage had." We went to the library for our date, where he excused himself to the bathroom for a long while. He continued to rid himself of his esophogeal and stomach lining once we returned home.

Yesterday, I had a 12-hour work shift. I got up feeling the typical nausea, but managed to eat a bowl of shredded wheat - which usually helps. Before I got in the truck, I found myself fertilizing the groundcover with said shredded wheat. All of it. The big clue that this was not pregnancy-related was that I didn't feel like eating the rest of the day. Returning from an episode around 2:30 p.m., another nurse said, "You look shell-shocked." Not to be disrespectful of my patients with end-stage liver disease, but I figured if I was throwing up more than they were, I probably shouldn't be taking care of them. I've never left work due to sickness before. It was a good call, though. I left a package on the sidewalk of OHSU on the way to the truck and had to stop again on the way home. Once home it was a free-for-all (how many different ways can you think of to allude to "throwing up"?).

Now it is Sunday. I think we're out of the woods. Syd seems to be holding up pretty well and, fingers crossed, has been spared this monster.

Tri-ing It Out

Sexy Di and Sexy I participated in our first sprint triathlon on August 1st. I've been wanting to do a triathlon for several years now, but decided to wait until I was first-trimester sick to carry out this plan. We followed a strict exercise regimen, which, for me, included a three-week "taper" (i.e. no exercise at all). Yeah. So, I was pretty nervous about the race considering my lack of preparation. I used a Sharpie to write a "baby on board" sign on the front of my shirt - right there over my belly. I thought it would make people feel in awe of me, and also, grant some leniency for looking so chubby in a swimsuit. The only problem, as I found out, was that

a) I didn't wear the shirt when I was wearing the swimsuit, and
b) probably 30% of the women there were also pregnant (it was an "all-women's" triathlon with over 1,000 participants). And they weren't making excuses.
c) participants came in all shapes and sizes and were just there for a good time. There was nothing to be self-conscious about.

As they say, Malesh.

The triathlon experience was awesome. I have found my new favorite race. The lake water was not cold and choppy like I imagined it would be (even though the pre-race lit specified it would be a balmy 70 degrees). It's fun to rise out of the lake water, when you get back to shore, like an evolving amoeba and then squish-squish across the timing pad that goes *beeeeeep* as you run down the shoot towards the bike transition area. Spectators line both sides of the chute, cheering all the racers. At that point I had long ago tossed my body image to the wind and let my chubby thighs flop around with freedom and pride.

A friend had informed me, the night before, that "no, you do not have a private changing booth in the transition area." Apparently, people wear the same clothes throughout the race. Just a little FYI there for all of you who are considering a triathlon in your future. I felt compelled to put on shorts and a t-shirt anyway - but threw it on over my wet swimsuit. The bike portion was super great. There are all these rules about keeping so much distance between your bike and other bikes, passing on the right and under a certain amount of time. A monitor rides the course looking for people breaking these rules so he can DQ them. It's serious stuff. Mostly, though, I enjoyed a scenic ride along the river. I spied Heather on the course (she was way ahead of me, burning past someone on the return portion. Uphill) - we let out mutual whoop-whoops of joy.

Then it was time for the run. Oh, my. It might be more accurate to say, "the hobble." My three-week taper did not prepare me for this part of the race. But it was only a 5K, so I hobbled/walked the last bit, drawing on my inner qi for the last sprint down the chute. I pounded across the timing pad to hear the *beeeeeeeeeep* and was done. A volunteer clips the timing chip off your ankle, another tosses the finishers medal around your neck, and someone else points you to the lunch line. We had a great time and are now committed fans of the triathlon. Looking forward to doing an Olympic distance next year. After the baby.

Dead as a Door Nail

Tillamook County Fair

We'd heard a lot about the corn dogs out west, so we packed up our wagon Saturday and pushed out to Tillamook for their big county fair. I tripped over the entry fee on the way in (ouch!) and had to wander around inside to find an ATM in order to get my family in (remember to take cash to the fair, and lots of it!). Lots of sights and sounds...

The most exciting event was the DEMOLITION DERBY! Bumper cars, the real deal. Old clunkers, with no mufflers, flooring it in reverse, trying to cream any other car they can find. It is INTENSE to watch --live metal carnage, LOUD engines roaring, tires popping, smoke pouring out of hoods. The local fire department was right there on the premises, and the big red engine would let out a blarring honk when they figured enough damage was done. The few surviving cars would "limp" off, while the big John Deeres would come on and pull away the dead. Then, back in the "pits" we could see the sparks flying off the grinders and the blue flames of welders working as the teams tried to resuscitate their poor war machines for the next heat... amazing. Just ask T!

In the end we never ate a corn dog (Robin had a corn zucchini thing which was very good), but we sure drank some sweet summertime.

We've got the glasses

Which speak volumes about our grilled cheese sandwiches.