If I run five and a half miles today I will reach my week goal of thirty miles. Not like any of you care, but it would actually be a goal accomplished without my knee or my calf giving out, which would be so entirely cool. When I get done posting this I will get going on that. It has been nice to set a goal for myself this week (even a goal so silly as that) to get myself a little cheery about finishing something for the week.
Another thing I am excited about is that I dusted yesterday and made a batch of soap.
And I have discovered that if you have stinky breath from eating garlic and onions or anything that makes your breath reek, drink coffee and it will deodorize it. I suppose that is why EmmaSometimes always has smashing breath. Dear Sir is a big clean breath sort of person and if I stink, he tells me. I still have yet to develop a thick skin about it. I think my issues stem from my cannibalistic tendencies, but I won't go into detail. At any rate, I will no longer avoid Dear Sir when I eat spicy hummus, I will meet him head on in close up conversation right after I have a cup of coffee. Seems fair. But I will brush my teeth first. And pop a mint.
On the downside, I have discovered (but I was not surprised) that I can only do one half pull-up (as opposed to a full pull up), and I experienced some fear yesterday when I was attempting to show the Oldest how to swing on the monkey bars. I swung my way across like in grade school days, but I actually was afraid! What a wimp I am! And apparently I need to start lifting weights or something because my arms need some strength. Or else I weigh too much. I have dreams where I am trying to punch someone out and I barely put any force in it at all, I can't. In my dreams I fly but I am actually swimming too. I am wading through the air like I wade through water. I have to get a good run first before I set off too (which would seem natural for me).
And now I am sure you wanted to know all that.
You all have a good weekend, Dear Sir and I are going to do a bunch of nothing.
I think the number thirty is haunting me. Thirty miles, thirty years this year. A good friend of mine said that she will not acknowledge the number when she hits it next year because it seems too old, is not who she is inside, and by golly, it is frightening! I am not scared of thirty though. Thirty means that all that time has gone by---with what to show? And then I realize that my battle is not failure really, it is pride, and then that is what is scary. Thirty years and I am still prideful. It is funny what we expect of ourselves. I am not God, which reminds me:
Yesterday the Oldest was eating a pack of Smarties and I put my hand in it, pretending that I was going to help myself to his bounty.
"Hey---" he said.
"Gotta tithe your ten percent, boy," I said.
"YOU are NOT God!" my son said, laughing, taking off, Smarties with him.