The Best Knight Ever!

John surprised us today!  We hadn't done anything exciting as a family since our trip to Cartersville last month.  Things were getting stale around the Degonia Castle.  We needed an outing; but it was 24 degrees outside and windy.  In order to get away, we went back in time! 

John loaded us into the car after breakfast; and on the pretense of going to Dave & Busters, the boys' favorite place to eat burgers and play videogames, we drove to Atlanta.  The boys didn't realize they were in for a rare treat.  John bought us all tickets to Medieval Times!

The boys had been asking about Medieval Times for months.  Spencer has read almost every library book available about knights and castles.  Since we have been building catapults, ballista, and trebuchets all semester, and since we are just about to launch into our study of the middle ages in history, I could even justify the expense as an educational field trip.  The truth was-- it was fantastic for all of us.

The boys were thrilled when they realized we weren't just in Atlanta for a few videogames and a burger.  When John told them, Denver squealed with delight, and Spencer and John Robert grinned from ear to ear.  We walked into the entry hall of the "castle" and were given crowns to wear.  We toured the dungeon-- full of tools of torment-- and admired the real swords, suits of armor, and had our picture taken with the King and Queen. 

When the great doorway opened, we found our seats and were served an enormous meal of meat, soup, bread, potatoes, and apple pastries while a falconer performed with her bird and a parade of the royal court circled the arena.  There were knights jousting, there was swordfighting, there was a battle between our kingdom and another.  In short, it was two hours of heaven for our three boys.  Spencer and Denver were beyond thrilled.  Even John Robert, who had played it cool at first, yelled and cheered for the Green Knight-- the hero of our kingdom.

John and I smiled at each other again and again as we watched our guys enjoying themselves.  Denver waved his green banner and they all three cheered the whole time.  They loved the meal and audience participation.  In a few more years, they won't want to go with us to Medieval Times.  If they go later, it will be with their friends or girlfriends.  Now is our chance to spend time with our young princes.  

When we finally arrived home, Spencer and Denver continued to play knights-- bundled in their coats and running around the yard with sticks until well after dark.  After finally coming inside, they continue to battle as I write this-- if the house does not fall down, I'll be amazed!

It is not always easy to decide when it's best to be thrifty with our money, and when to splurge.  Judging from the joy in the boys eyes today, however, I am sure that today's big adventure was worth every penny.

  

  

A Lovely Valentine's Day

I LOVE Valentine's Day.  Not because of Saint Valentine or many of the American traditions of romantic love.  I love Valentine's Day because for me it is a celebration of all love-- love for my children, my husband, my family, my friends, my life, my health, God.  It doesn't hurt that there are a lot of cute, cheap decorations available either-- heart shaped bowls, heart plates and cups, valentine tablecloths, flowers.  I embrace it all with a silly exuberance.  Yesterday was no exception.

The boys awakened to chocolates at the breakfast table, milk served in heart cups, pancakes on heart plates.  They did extra work earlier in the week so that Valentine's Day was a free day.  They took gifts to Mimi and Paw Paw.  Nana bought them a new video game, and I paid for half of another video game for them to enjoy.  They were thrilled! 

Although they all played outside for a while, too, the big fun was holding a Wii remote and playing, playing, all day long.  I was amazed at the level of creative problem solving and teamwork involved in their games.  John Robert spent time pouring over the game guide.  They each read about their chosen characters and devised plans to upgrade skills and unlock new levels.  Sometimes their plans differed, and they had to call me to step in; but mostly they played joyfully.  They stopped intermittently for a Valentine's Day indoor picnic and to toast the day.  I received numerous hugs-- even from John Robert!

John flew over a thousand miles yesterday, and was exhausted when he got home.  I cooked a hearty, healthy dinner and gave him some dark chocolate with almonds for Valentine's Day.  He gave me a registration number for the St. Louis Marathon in April.  Whoopee!

While the boys enjoyed their new game, Lady and I went for a long run in preparation for the marathon.  We circled the subdivision for nearly two and a half hours.  I am so grateful my body is strong.  What a joy! 

May you be as filled with gratitude and joy as we were on this Valentine's Day! 

    

What Crazy Looks Like

I'm what crazy looks like.  I admit it.  If crazy is repeating the same activity and expecting a different result, then I'm guilty.

For over ten years, I was a runner.  I ran distances from the one mile to a 50k ultramarathon.  I never won, you understand.  But I trained for every race as if my legs might suddenly find wings.  I had fantasies of losing ten pounds and suddenly being a LOT faster.  It never happened-- even when I lost the ten pounds.  Then I had John Robert.  Then Spencer.  Then Denver.  I began not to feel like a runner anymore.  Runners train for races.  I have mostly done yoga and taken walks for about a decade.

Yesterday, for the first time in years, I ran a race.  I'm not talking about pushing a double jogging stroller or trotting alongside one of my sons in the Fun Run.  I mean: I entered The Pancake Stampede 5k with the ridiculous hope of winning the women's division. 

That's me at the starting line in a hot pink shirt on the far left.

I trained.  I stretched.  I got nervous the night before.  I ate a Gu at the starting line.  When the race began, I was near the front.  (It was a small race.  It was 26 degrees.  We were all fools to be out there at all!).  I found the only woman ahead of me, and tried to stay on her lime green shoulder as we descended a hill and entered the icy, muddy, offroad portion of the race.  By the end of the first mile, I knew I was running a blistering pace that couldn't hold.  It didn't.  Lime green woman ran off and left me.  Other women began to pass me, including a seven year old girl running with her mom and giggling.  Forgive me, but I wanted to trip her and leap over the body.  How could she jog past me so easily?  Didn't she know I had trained?!

Coming up the big hill to the half way point, I was sure that despite the freakishly strong women passing me, I was at least setting a PR.  Wrong again.  90 seconds slower than I had hoped.  I dug in to see what I could do.  I decided to finish this race with nothing left to give.  I passed a good looking guy who was also very out of shape.  I passed a tall man who was shuffling along with his hands in his pockets.  I passed Lime Green woman on an incline.  "Hi, Kim!", she shouted as I went by.  Oh my, it was Mattie Moon, the wonderful teacher at the Montessori School and daughter of a friend.  I greeted her, felt slightly embarrassed that I'd been happy about passing her, and continued running.

The last half mile is all uphill.  I dug in.  "Nothing left.  Nothing left," I puffed to myself.  The marvelous race volunteers cheered, "Way to go, Ladies!" as I passed.  I heard the plural.  As silly as it seems-- the prize for winning the race was a bottle of syrup or a spatula, and I wasn't even winning-- I didn't want to be passed.

I found another gear.  I lifted my knees and increased turnover.  The air was so cold, my throat hurt from breathing.  I saw the finish line and sprinted toward it like the Holy Land.

There was polite applause, or maybe the volunteers were simply trying to keep warm.  I walked a few more steps and then bent over to rest and possibly vomit.  My tank was empty.  I'd done my best.  My time?  Blistering nine minute miles.  The slowest 5k I have ever run.  Sad, but true.  Nevertheless, I came in 19th.  And there were more than 19 runners!  That sounds so much better than nine minute miles!

The rest of the day is a blur of family duties, resting, and mulling over the little race: I was proud of my effort and appalled by my results.  Maybe for the next race, I can bring my german shepard; and people will be afraid to pass me; especially seven year old little girls!



   

On His Way to Blackbelt

Spencer made his commitment to become a blackbelt yesterday.  This means three more years of hard work and daily practice.  He is excited, and I am a proud Momma (who can drive to the karate studio in her sleep!).

Spencer has been studying karate for over a year.  Yesterday, he had his picture taken for placement on a special display at the studio.  Demonstrating his kicks, punches, and weapons, Spencer posed for many pictures while I wrote a check for the sitting fee.  I didn't mind.  Karate has been transformative for Spencer, and for me.

Spencer began karate when he was struggling to keep his head up.  Never a child to be brimming with confidence and wide smiles, Spencer was depressed for no known reason.  He cried a lot.  No one-- despite our best efforts-- knew why or what to do.  Hugs and kisses weren't enough.  I didn't want to try any sort of medication.  My parents were kind enough to offer karate lessons; something Spencer was very interested in, but too expensive for our budget.  Spencer embraced it: practicing almost every day, getting very nervous before every practice, and becoming upset whenever he made a mistake in class.  Still, he loved it and still does.  There is something about karate.  Is it the shouting?  The military style discipline?  The running, kicking, punching?  The high flying sidekicks?  The kind, patient teachers who are not too much older than himself?  Whatever it is, it works for Spencer. 

In the past year, Spencer has become ever so much more happy with himself.  It could be the move to homeschooling, more time outside, or any number of other factors in addition to karate.  I don't care.  He recently told me that he is trying to choose to be happy.  I notice that he no longer looks away when unfamiliar people (read: not immediate family) speak to him.  He looks people in the eye and responds to their questions.  He holds the microphone and speaks in front of our church congregation when asked.  He tries to handle his frustrations in more productive ways: taking breaks to play outside instead of crying.  He spends a lot of time reading Calvin & Hobbes books and creating his own jokes.  Although Spencer still struggles from time to time with overwhelming emotions and a bit of grumpiness, he is a different boy than he was a year and a half ago.  He told me that he thought he might be a good karate teacher.  

Last Sunday in church, Spencer made a card for me.  The first line is the first time I've ever known him to say these words:



I am one happy Momma.