January 30, 2009

She's NOT The Blue Light Special!

The little Flambina has had jaundice. Things have changed over the last nine years.

When my friends had babies, they put the babies, diaper clad only with little goggles or patches on their eyes, under a big light.

In their little glass bassinets with those big lights, it always looked like a little turkey under a food warmer to me. I call it the Turkey Basting Lights.

So I figured that’s what Flambina was dealing with… tiny little turkey body under food warmer lights.

I’ve been emphatic all week. Send me pictures of her sun bathing! I want pictures of her under the lights!

And so I got them.

First I got this one.

Not the blue light special.JPG


Have you ever seen that movie Cocoon where the old people want to get young? Remember that glowy egg thing?

It looks like the Flambina morphed with the Cocoon egg.

I thought what in the hell is TGOO sending me? What are they doing to her? What are those pokey things off to the side?

And then… I got THIS picture where it is obvious they’ve changed things and either have a light in that suit or under it or something and it makes her glowy. Those pokey things were her arms…

Cocoon Egg Baby.jpg

She still looks like that Cocoon egg with a Flambina head.

Anyway, she is getting better. They allowed them to take this contraption home with them so she’s been baking at home and is not so yellow. I was sending texts to Mo saying, “How’s our little yellow baby?”

Lastly, here’s the picture of her coming home from the hospital. She looks like a big snow ball strapped into a car seat.


Oh and God spoke to me today via Delta. I got a round trip ticket for $128. A big thank you to Sissy for sending me an email telling me they had big deals going on… it is meant to be.

Twenty six days and I’ll be nuzzling a baby…

Posted by Boudicca at 11:45 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

The Comfort of Always Knowing... F=ma

My Tech Lead and I were talking today. I told him, ‘I just do not have time for breast cancer and I do not have time to go through a breast cancer scare. My life is too busy…”

And that of course led us into a deep discussion of the medical profession.

In essence, I had an ultrasound that came back wonky, in the same place as my biopsy a year ago. I’m not going into details as it’s drawn out, but this has been going on since before Christmas.

Today the new results were, “We’re not sure, it’s changed, it could be because of the biopsy, maybe not, come back in six months.”

Am I worried? No.

I am, however, acutely aware that I am, every year, getting closer to the age my grandmother was when she had both breasts removed, one due to cancer, the other an extraordinarily brave choice removed for prophelactic measures.

Is my radiologist worried? Eh. Not AS much as she was...

How do I know she was worried?

The day of she spent an hour working on that breast. I was afraid I was going to get some sort of gel burn. I mean, please, how many times can you rub in one place? I was afraid my breast was finally just going to open up and eat the ultrasound wand.

It put her an hour behind for the rest of her patients… that’s how concerned she was at the time.

I then received no less than three phone calls telling me to bring by old records so they could compare. (I switched doctors.) There were calls on every one of my voice mails... home, work, cell... three times. I was their mission.

I was not so worried as I kept saying, "Its the SAME site as my biopsy..."

I’m irritated as I wanted the cyst removed in the first place. I never wanted a biopsy; I wanted it removed. But the surgeon pushed back and I acquiesced and now I am in this current situation of playing, “Breast Growth Limbo” played to the tune of “Is it Benign or is it Not?”.

It’s not a game I recommend.

Let me stress, I’m not losing sleep over it. My mammogram was clear. Its these daggum ultrasounds that keep turning stuff up.

And so as my Tech Lead and I were discussing this, he has had his own health issues, far more serious than anything I’ve EVER had, and the doctors are trying to get a heart/neuro med corrected (the guy is in tip top shape… some sort of genetic funky trigger… he just passes out sometimes), we were discussing the doctor's usage of the phrases, “I think” or “It may” or “It could be”.

I told him how I frequently tell people that our jobs are very similar to a doctor’s. We figure out a problem and correct it.

A doctor’s patient is human. An engineer’s patient is inanimate.

A doctor’s patient bleeds. An engineer’s patient… well… ours leaks oil.

Something breaks, we find the root cause… and fix it.

Same same.

Except as we were discussing these phrases we hate in the medical profession I said, “We stumbled on a BIG difference… we understand our rules better.”

And that’s when he laughed and said, “Yes. Because F=ma! Always!”

So that will become our latest joke now… when either of us comes back from a doctor and hears “It could be, it might be, I think…” we’ll roll our eyes and say, “F=ma”.

Posted by Boudicca at 11:12 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

January 29, 2009

No Sleeping for Chicky Moms

I called Morrigan about eight times today. If not Morrigan, the house, where I talked to my Mom, TGOO, Flam... anyone who answered.

I'm pathetic.

Tomorrow I strive to only call four times.

This does not include all the texts I sent, texts like, "How is our little yellow baby?" as she has jaundice and has had to sit under the lights the last couple days.

Anyway, first call was at 815. I couldn't take it. I called and the following conversation ensued to the best of my recollection:

Mo, picking up her cell, no hello, no nothing just: And what would you have done if I had been sleeping?

Me: I know you aren't sleeping.


Me: Yes, if you were sleeping your cell would be turned off and you're a new Mom now, you'll never sleep again. Bwahahahahahahaa!

Mo, laughing: Yeah, you're right. Hey, I got two hours last night.

Me: Key. Was it consecutive?

Mo, laughing: No. I got one hour consecutive though...

Me: Bwhahahahaha


And the daily baby fix...


After bath...

Posted by Boudicca at 10:05 PM | Comments (14) | TrackBack

What's in a Name?

The following conversation ensued today, to the best of my recollection, as I was leaving work.

Boss to my Tech Lead: I have this spreadsheet. Are you a Mechanical Engineer?

Tech Lead: No. Aerospace.

Boss: Really? The company has you listed as a Mechanical.

TL: Nope.

Boss: Bou, are you a mechanical engineer?

Me, purse and keys in hand: No, I'm an applied mathematician.

Boss: They have you as a mechanical engineer.

Me: Well, I am in my job. By degree I'm a mathematician, by trade an engineer. Company X turned me into one... but by degree, no, applied math with minors in computers and statistics.

Boss: Hunh. I'm trying to think what to do.

Me, over my shoulder as I'm making my way to the door: You can call me a Mechanical Engineer. You can call me anything you want as long as you pay me a fare wage.

From some cube in the cube farm: Really? Anything?

Me, as I'm breezing out the door: Hell yes. I've been called worse... for free. See ya...

And I heard laughter behind the door as it clicked shut.

Just pay me. I don't give a crap about my title... hells bells... I'm pretty much a whore. I whore out my brain... pay me and I'll do any thinking job you need me to do.

Posted by Boudicca at 04:24 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

January 28, 2009

Baby Fix of the Day

I'm still riding high on this baby stuff... so you'll have to deal with it a bit longer.

More pix from Grandfather Flam.

This picture makes me question that 4D ultrasound. Maybe Morrigan can shed some light, but it sure looks to me like her ear lobes are of the unattached kind.


That 4D showed them attached. It also didn't have her looking so petite. If you'd have told me she'd have the head the size of a navel orange, I'd have told you based on that 4D, that you were smoking something.

And although I do not typically nuzzle and kiss the front's of baby's necks because that's where all the slobber and puke accumulates, I would make an exception for the picture below.

She is BEGGING me to come to Atlanta and kiss her little neck.

My Aunt Should Be Nuzzling My Neck.JPG

She's teasing me.

And this last one... makes me laugh because babies don't focus. Oh they try... but this one I entitle, "Focus Young Jedi". Heh.

Focus Young Jedi.JPG

Posted by Boudicca at 10:18 PM | Comments (11) | TrackBack

Like Mary Poppins' Carpet Bag... But Not

It’s been a crazy frickin’ week. I’ve been all over the place transporting children, working, volunteering at the school.

I opened the back hatch of the asexual Mom-mobile today and found the following:

A folding chair (to watch Bones play Lacrosse)

A huge amplifier complete with Monster 50 foot cord (band practice)

One bass guitar

One trombone

A year’s box of receipts, by month, for the school (audit last week)

And one cup and jock strap (clean… from yesterday’s comment to Bones, “Just throw it in the car and take it up with your coach”. He took it literally.)

I think it is obvious I am a boy Mom.

Anything odd in your car???

Posted by Boudicca at 10:11 PM | Comments (12) | TrackBack

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Music Lessons

My son and his band had their audition yesterday for the school Variety Show. They have been practicing like crazy, have had some ‘band issues’ as in someone dropped out and they had to find a replacement… they decided to forgo the drummer all together and also… no singing.

So it is Unholy Confessions by Avenged Sevenfold, with just the bass and two electric guitars.

They really sounded good.

Did they sound just like Avenged Sevenfold? No.

But they are all 13 years old, its their first time and they’ve all been playing their instruments less than two years.

I’ve been astounded by my son’s maturity in the face of some nasty infighting, how he stayed above the fray and kept everyone together as long as he could. He was the adult in the group during times that everyone else was acting like six year olds and even his bass instructor was impressed.

This has been my son’s pet project. He sleeps, eats, and breathes learning this song… as the bass part is tough for a kid, who when undertaking it, had been playing less than a year.

The kids at the audition were impressed… his cell phone going nuts with texts in the car on the way home as all the little girls sent him messages telling him how cool he was. A bit of credibility has been added to the personality of one of the guitarists… a kid that most shunned or thought odd… now as the lead, is considered kind of cool.

Middle school drama. My son has been staying mostly silent while grinning as he watches his hard work come to fruition.

I said, “So do you think there may be a couple little girls who may have crushes on you now that they saw you playing the bass in this band?”

He grinned and looked at me sideways and said, “Maybe…”

I didn’t press much further because I know, in the back of his head, it is about the music, but it’s also about the girls. As much as he is the quiet kid, the kid who blends, doesn’t make waves, to the point he picked bass instead of lead guitar when picking an instrument… he has no problems being on stage. He is comfortable and enjoying it.

And he realized today… sometimes when you are the guy in the background, you’re the one most in demand.

We walked into his percussion lesson, and there was a Mom I was about to text. She had her phone in her hand and said, “I was JUST about to call you!”

I had no idea her kids even took music with them…

She said, “I have a bit of a problem. My son plays acoustic guitar and has a buddy that plays drums. They’re playing in the Variety Show, but they so need a bass player. I asked the instructor if he would do it and he said, ‘No, you need to call Ringo. I can teach him this part in 20 minutes.’ Do you think you could ask him for me?”

I was grinning inside.

She said, “Tell him I’ll make it worth his while…” and I replied, “His being on stage will be enough. I’ll ask him, but I feel certain he’ll say yes…”

I saw him after his lesson and said, “The Smith boy needs a bassist. He’s playing Brown Eyed Girl at the Variety Show. Would you be interested?”

In his deep voice, lips not moving as God forbid should we expend the energy to emote on any level, he said, “yeah. Sure.”

Which to someone else would seem lackluster, but I saw the gleam in his eye and the slight twitch of a grin at the corner of his mouth, and I winked at him, and told the Mother he’d do it in a heartbeat.

So as of now, it appears he’s playing in the Variety Show twice and he’s excited.

And the reason I’m excited is that it has been a fight for us through these Middle School years. They’ve had almost NO redeeming qualities.

I used to grit my teeth and say to my husband, “He has NO passion for ANYTHING. Nothing. He would just as soon lay about and let life come to him or pass him by!”

And now I have a kid that is completely hooked on music, is working HARD to make things happen, and has exhibited enormous leadership skills… and I’m excited.

I don’t know what it’ll translate to… but for now? I’m excited.

And I’m laughing because… who woulda thunk that in one second a kid would be playing Avenged Sevenfold in black jeans and tshirt and the next second would be quickly changing into something mellow so he could play Van Morrison?

Posted by Boudicca at 10:07 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

January 27, 2009

More Pictures of The GREAT Flambina

I call this picture... Baby Bird. The Flambina (as Denny suggested and a good one at that!), is being held by her doting Grandfather Flam. You see only his shirt as I am keeping all adults out of the photos.

And these two photos were sent to me by Grandfather Flam.

baby bird.JPG

Baby Bird

This picture has a lot of title potential. It is her first bath and wow, what a change from the wonder womb to THAT.

Help Ive fallen and cant get up.JPG

Holy Crap, Where Am I and How Did This Happen?

And how is it possible to be so crazy in love with someone that you have never met? Odd... that.

Posted by Boudicca at 09:51 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

Not Just For Drinking...

Maybe I should have entitled this post... Extremes. I went from sweet baby blogging yesterday, yes, I'm madly in love, to cup blogging.

And not the kind you drink out of.

Last week we went to the Lacrosse store where I could throw yet more money at a sport that is a money sponge, assuring me it will only be played one season. If we'd paid just $25 for shoes, we'd play for seasons... throw scads of money, and you're assured your child will hate it, leaving you with enough equipment to make a professional team's equipment manager proud.

The whole thing has seriously pissed me off, but we won't go there.

Anyway, back at the Lacross store, flushing hard earned cash, to check on the helmet that is obviously laced in 24K gold, when I remembered we needed a mouth guard. We picked one up when I said to the young man working the store, "Is there anything else you can think of that we need? I'm clueless... I'm just good for the credit card."

He said, "Well, he'll need a cup."

Me: A cup?

Him, somewhat sheepishly as even though I think he was over 21, he looked 16, and here is this Mom acting like she didn't know what a cup is: Umm. Yeah.

There was great commotion with the boys behind me. "Mom! Yeah, he could take a hit."

Me: I don't do cups. That's Dad's deal. You talk to Dad, you let Dad buy you the cup, I'm done with cups.

Lest you forget the damaging incident I wrote of here (the post has some formatting issues... but it is funny)... funny that it was Bones that damaged me when he was age 3, NEEDING To have, HAVING to have, that 'weenie protector' and now he is 9 and I've now got some form of 'weenie protector PTSD'.

Flash forward to today... Bones has Lacrosse and this was the entire scene, as best I can recollect.

Bones: Mom! I have a scrimmage! I need a cup!

Me: I don't do cups. You had all weekend. You didn't have Dad buy you a cup?

Bones: NO! I forgot.

Me: Great. Boys, do either of you have a cup left from when you were in Karate?

Ringo: yeah, its in my closet. I'll find it for you.

He found the cup, at the time of purchase it seemed so big for my then 6 year old, now for a 9 year old, it seems kind of small.

Bones is bones for a reason, he is a thin kid. I knew the special underwear would fit his boney legs and waist.

He was on his bed doing his homework when I came in and said, "We have one..."

Bones: Hunh.

Me: Try it on.

Bones, putting it on: Oh. Hey, can we take out the cup part?

Me: *blink*

Bones, moving his legs, high stepping through the room, doing things that would be considered very unladylike which is fine since he not only is not a lady, but will never grow to be one: Really.

Me: Dude, there is a reason they call it a 'cup'. You don't remove the cup part, that's the part that protects "THAT" part.

I knocked on the cup. "See?"

Bones: Yeah, well its uncomfortable and it rubs my legs.

Me: Look, we'll get a pair of boxers for you... that should be better.

A pair of boxers his size could not be found, but instead a bright blue pair of Scooby Doo boxer briefs.

He slid the contraption over it all... I have to say it was damn funny. I stayed stoic.

Me: See. Its fine.

Bones: Mom. Really. What is the probability I'm going to take a hit there?


Bones: Really. Less than 25%. I bet less than 10%. I think I don't need to wear it...

Funny the boy pulling numbers like that out of thin air. Funnier still coming from the boy that just 6 years ago threw a temper tantrum in a sports store because I'd not buy him a weenie protector.

I walked away. I'm not fighting it. I told him to throw it in the car and he can talk about it with his coach.

I came in here to write this and he waltzed in wearing... his jeans... and evidently his cup.

Bones: MOM. I cannot POSSIBLY wear this. LOOK AT ME. I look like I have a big p-e-n-1s.


Bones: I look HUGE. I can't wear it.

Me: Fine, put it in the car like I said...

And I can't quit smirking to myself. I have... what... six years before looking huge won't be such a bad thing to him? Heh.

Posted by Boudicca at 05:31 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

January 26, 2009

The Most Beautiful Baby in The History Of the World


I'm so in love it hurts.

And I'm sitting here 600 miles away and I can't get my hands on her and it is killing me. It was killing me before but now I have pictures and... My Heart Is Breaking with Love.

My new niece, who is as of this very moment, in my eyes, the most beautiful baby ever born in the history of the world...

The Most Beautiful Baby in History.JPG

(Hands are of my Mom and Dad.)

And this picture... made me almost cry.

This Picture Made Me Cry.JPG
(Morrigan's hands are pictured... she has smaller hands than I and we are not big people. That shows you... how very tiny the little Flambino is.)

There are pictures of Morrigan as well... that I am not posting, but let me tell you, I never looked as beautiful as she does in the pictures.

I'm so happy for Mo and Flam my heart aches. She is so beautiful...

... and if all the babies in this world, were born into as much love as the baby Flambino, this world would be a far different place...

... of that I am certain.

May God continue to hold her in the palm of his hands.

Posted by Boudicca at 10:44 PM | Comments (24) | TrackBack

It's a GIRL!!!

6 lb 10 oz
19inches long
chest is 13 inches
head is 12 inches

Born 7:34PM January 26th... All Parts to Spec! She's PERFECT!

OH MY GOD! She is tiny and cute!!!

She has HAIR!

*UPDATE... I'm still waiting for pictures. *tap* *tap* *tap*

Posted by Boudicca at 08:13 PM | Comments (15) | TrackBack

Baby Watch, Two Thousand and Nine

Yup. We're still waiting.

Bonus is we know she's in the home stretch.

I called TGOO to find out if he and Mom had actually made it INTO the hospital. I called once as they were circling the parking lot. He and Mom were sitting in the waiting room reading and waiting.

He told me the baby needs to just 'GO TO THE LIGHT!' Heh.

I'm half expecting her Facebook friends to find out about the baby before I do...

Anyway, so I'm expecting a call soon. I have phone in hand and I'm... waiting, waiting, waiting.

Posted by Boudicca at 07:43 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

The Great Flambino...

...arrives today. Morrigan is in the hospital, arriving there in the wee hours of the morning.

It should be some time this afternoon

*UPDATE- As of 10:00 this morning, she had good drugs. I received a picture from her husband entitled "Visual Update". Of course I did a *blink* and wondered exactly what kind of update it was...

It was a picture of Morrigan, in bed, some type of towel on her forehead (like if you were to have a fever) and what looked like a TV remote in her hand and her cell phone in her hand as if she was reading and sending text messages.

Life looked good...

And then around 3:57 (heh), I got a text from her that said "8cm Very uncomfortable" to which I texted back happy thoughts about being in the home stretch and then told her "Not as uncomfortable as it is drug free..."

So the Great Flambino should be making his entrance into the world soon. I think its a boy. We shall see... we shall see...

Bones said this morning upon hearing she was in the hospital, "What is it? What is it?!" and I said, "They've not seen the body parts yet. You have to wait..."

So we wait. They're in the homestretch. My calculations have it by 7... close to 6:30.

We wait.

Posted by Boudicca at 08:57 AM | Comments (12) | TrackBack

January 25, 2009

Odes, Paybacks, CHOMP!

It is over, a wonderful Carnival... very successful. I've got even higher hopes for next year.

But most importantly, for now, there was a wager made on a certain championship game... a wager won by ME, the Gator fan, and lost by The Friendly Neighborhood Piper (FNP), a Sooner fan.

The wager was, whoever lost, was to write an Ode to the other team, hailing the team and their conference. Understanding the Sooners had a damn good team, I wrote mine in advance.

FNP wrote his... and it took a bit longer, but I KNEW he would get it up. I knew because we had talked at Halftime and he is a GREAT guy... very honorable kind of guy. You can tell when you speak to some people what kind of people they come from.

And I knew it would take awhile, afterall, he has four kids under six years of age.

His Ode to the Gators is up HERE at his blog and folks, the Gators may have humbled the Sooners, but FNP has humbled me. I will be frank, the Ode I wrote, was complete crap compared to what he put together.

I'm in awe.

Mine was some little diddy to the tune of four versus of Calvin and Hobbes, Ode to Tiger scene, whereas his is a full blown ode.

Creative I am not.

Creative he is.

Go over and read. A big hand to FNP for being a good sport and for pulling together one helluva Ode.

Go Gators!!!

Posted by Boudicca at 11:06 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

Numbers, Economy, Bad Food

I'm alive. Exhausted. Better for it? Perhaps.

I've stepped away from the edge of the cliff to try to be more reflective. Its not the auditor's fault that it was scheduled for my busiest fundraising season with the school.

Its not the church's fault that we're being audited directly after the parish that was involved with one of the largest financial fraud's that I personally remember.

Which brings me to a conversation I had with my father in law. A slight sidenote at that... I know I get frustrated with him and our situation, and how he is such a difficult person, but I need to put it out there, that he and I have some very deep conversations and... we both laugh a lot at each other.

So as much as he pisses me off, and I piss him off, he and I find a way to look at things and laugh and sometimes, that makes it better.


So Pop and I were talking about the evil priests south of us who embezzled all that money on condos, women, etc. and Pop says, "Bou... sins of the flesh..."

And I replied, "Pop. I am very OK with sins of the flesh. It happens. Bad things happen to good people. Its not my business and priests are human. What I am NOT OK with is stealing from the flock. That's not sins of the flesh. That's just criminal. They didn't succumb to the sins of the flesh... they are just thieves, plain and simple."

And I guess we both agreed, that in the big scheme of sins, if you're going to rank them, we think stealing from people, betraying their trust, is worse than the whole 'sins of the flesh'.

Odd conversation at that...

The audit went well of course because I have every piece of paper filed away by month, that they could request. The hassle is over.

The Carnival is going well, although I am starting to price sensory deprivation tanks again. Too much light, motion, sound... I get rather prickly and feel the need to hide in the dark... perhaps with a flashlight so I can at least read a good book.

So far, financially we are only down 6% from last year. Here is the economic deal with that... sit tight.

We all focus on the failure of our financial institutions that happened late summer (if I recall). That appears to be the conscious data point from where it hit the fan, to the collective American Mind.

But that's not the case.

It actually started in 2007, and we felt it at last year's (2008) January Carnival.

I am a hawk with the numbers, constantly calculating, trending, walking the grounds looking at crowds, who are we attracting, how many, is it busier, slower, etc. I do this from 9AM Friday morning until I close the books at 9PM on Sunday night.

It is a constant analysis. The women in the money room see me ruminating quietly over data. Hearing things like, "OK, I'm not going to freak over this..." to which they respond, "When we HEAR you say you are not going to freak... you are freaking."

And last year we took a HUGE hit. We were nearly 20% off from the year before.

We took our largest hit and adjusted accordingly. This year, we're running just 6% under from last year, but with some donations we've received that we had NOT had the previous year, we may actually either hit last year's numbers or beat them.

People WANT to spend money on things that take their mind off their troubles. Its all about keeping it in check.

So overall, other than the fact I'm already looking like the walking dead and like I need a good week's sleep, its going very very well.

Today is funnel cake day!!! Today is the day I succumb to greasy fried dough, where my eyes are huge, and I cut into it, take three bites and think, "OK, good feeling gone. Anyone else want to finish this off???"

And one cannot live on chocolate alone. I tried that yesterday. By 3PM, my body was screaming, "PROTEIN! YOU NEED PROTEIN!!!" Pistachios don't count.

More to come... I'm off to play with numbers. Its a sickness.

Posted by Boudicca at 12:23 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

January 22, 2009

Even Mother Teresa Would Be Pissed

Tomorrow starts the day of our annual carnival at the school. An enormous fundraiser it is, complete with real carnival rides, fair food, and the likes.

Big stress for me as I run the money end, being the school treasurer.

Big stress for me as its three days of huge noise, lights, motion. About now I start looking into the costs of sensory deprivation tanks...

Evidently not stressful enough, because some pinhead scheduled the Diocesan audit for our church for the same time.

Flashback... remember these jerks accuses of bilking the Catholic Church out of over a million dollars down at St. Vincent Ferrar... it made national news? Yeah, well, lucky us, just coming off of their audit do they come to us... so they are going through EVERYTHING with a fine tooth comb.

Which normally I don't mind... my books are their books, I'm honest and have nothing to hide.

Except this week is our school carnival and I'm just running on this side of way too stressed to then have to deal with frickin' auditors.

Which included getting a call at 9:30AM this morning requesting a 70 page report... which I provided immediately, realizing damn well that it was the report they would use to nitpick me over the next two days.

The next two days that are spent making deposits, setting up my end of the carnival, etc, etc, etc.

Like I have the time for this?

Wait. It must be the pay I get for it that entitles them to put me under this much stress.

Oh. Wait. I forgot! I don't get paid! It's FRICKIN' FREE!!!

So. When I got the call at 3:30PM TODAY of the list of sh** they want from me by TOMORROW, I said ever so sweetly, "I am going to do this, I will drop this all off tomorrow because I know I can find it all due to the fact it is all filed, but you need to know, I am THIS close to telling them they can kiss my butt. As a matter of fact, I'll be letting Father know what they can do as well."

And tomorrow... I will be giving a lot of people Holy Hell because I'm THAT F***ING pissed.

And I'm putting EVERYONE WHO WILL LISTEN on notice, that if NEXT year OR any year thereafter, when I am running the books, should they decide to schedule an audit during our carnival, I'm going home, getting all the boxes of FIVE YEARS worth of their files, getting their computer, and the check book, dropping it on someone's desk and WALKING.

Guess how bad I'll feel about it?


I'm not Catholic.

There is no Catholic guilt in my blood.

They can kiss my a$$.

Tomorrow should be interesting... I've been on simmer for over four hours... I figure by tomorrow morning, I should be on a full blown low rumble ready to spew.

Posted by Boudicca at 08:17 PM | Comments (12) | TrackBack

January 21, 2009

Not Pegging the Mom-o-Meter This Week

This week has been insane with T’s birthday, the school carnival preparations, work, life, etc.

Tomorrow is mandatory brown bag lunch day, which is not typically a problem as I mandate my children can only buy lunch once a week anyway.

As I went through the bread box and fridge I realized… I didn’t go grocery shopping. I have very slightly stale hard rolls in the breadbox and not enough turkey.

My kids are having bacon sandwiches on hard rolls tomorrow for lunch.

They might think it’s GREAT.

I’m thinking that the American Academy of Pediatrics would think… not so much.

Posted by Boudicca at 09:39 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

Notice to America

Dear America-

The Emperor Has No Clothes.

Just needed to be said.

You can drop the cups of kool aid. He's a Chicago politician and as much as you hate to hear it, he really doesn't 'feel what's in your heart'.

You don't register on his radar. Really. Step away from the mirror, quit feeling so self absorbed, and get some therapy as to what happened in your life that you would think some man in Washington DC gives a crap about what you think, how you feel, or whether you can make your mortgage payment. Did Daddy not pay you enough attention?

Move on.

Biggest frickin' snow job I've ever seen and to see so many people falling all over themselves FOR A POLITICIAN makes me nauseous and I lose faith in humanity.


Dear President Obama-

You need to remember one thing. While your little girls are all nestled safely away in the finest schools that money can buy, with the highest tech security, everyone being so very vigilent over where they are and making sure they are safe...

... my kids are amongst the general public and if you don't be careful, it is MY kids that will have targets on their backs when it comes to terrorism.

Not yours.

Yours will be safe.

Do me a favor and keep mine safe too.

Keep this is mind as you ponder the fate of the bastards in Gitmo.

Thank you.

Posted by Boudicca at 08:20 PM | Comments (11) | TrackBack

January 20, 2009

HB, Mr. T!!!

I didn’t watch the Inauguration today. (Or as my father in law calls it, The Coronation of the first Emperor of the United States of America.) There are a few reasons.

First, I never watch them. I vote in every election, am aware of politics in every way, but do not watch Inaugurations.

Second, I didn’t have to watch this one as it will get shoved down my throat at every turn. As the media continues with their Obama Love Fest, I feel certain, that although I do not watch television, that the Inauguration will not escape me… even if I launched myself to the moon.

Third, and most importantly, it is the birthday of my 2nd son and NOTHING is more important than my family.

And so some pre-birthday stuff about my 2nd son.

His birthday being today, just eight days from Morrigan’s due date, he REALLY REALLY wanted the baby to be born today.

We were at my folks’ home at Christmas and my husband had cooked a dinner of lasagna and eggplant parmesan. Morrigan informed us that supposedly eggplant parm will cause you to go into labor and there is a restaurant in Atlanta that is supposedly famous for pregnant women at their due date coming in to eat.

First, let me say I had never heard this tale.

Second, if this were the case, I feel most certain that they would have done some statistical analysis on women in Italy having their babies early or of small enclaves of women of Italian extraction in America, never meeting their due dates.

But, be it as it may, who am I to say, so Morrigan stayed away from the eggplant.

Meanwhile, my boys were enthralled with this… possibility that a food could cause a woman to go into labor.

Immediately Bones started to beg her to eat eggplant. Morrigan, not at all enthralled said, “I can’t have this baby now! I’m in Pensacola! My doctor is in Atlanta!”

To which Bones replied, “That’s OK! Mr. T can deliver it!”

We all sat around the table looking at each other.

And this is when the full realization came upon us all, to what extent the hero worship really does exist between Bones and his nearest oldest brother.

He was dead on serious.

We were laughing, Morrigan was rolling her eyes saying, “Sure! Mr. T can do anything!”

We were saying, “Sure! He can make straight A’s, run like a jack rabbit, do math in his head AND deliver a baby! At age 11!!!”

I think it should be noted that this is also the vibe that Mr. T gives off… he is capable and determined.

We were sitting at dinner the other night, his eldest brother at a friend’s house and his youngest at Lacrosse. My husband and I were in some deep discussion when Mr. T chimed in, "I have been alive for 4375 days.”

My husband and I looked at each other and I said, “Did you account for leap years?”

He said, "Hmmm… I don’t know when they are, but we need to assume there have been three. That makes it 4372 days.”

I looked at my husband and said, “He got that from ME!” to which my husband said, “Absolutely NOT from me…”

Mr. T can’t just make the A, he has to make the highest A. He is competitive and is a tremendous athlete… yet he won’t participate in rec sports, not because he’s afraid of losing but because, "They take all my time.”

That’s what he said to me. I asked him, "Do you want to play soccer or baseball this season?”

He said, “No way. Sports with all the practices and games will rule your life. I want to come home and play outside.”

And so that’s what he does. In PE, he’s a top athlete, the kid everyone wants on their team, he can easily play in a pick up game of soccer or baseball in someone’s yard, but beyond that, he thinks sports are a waste of time… when he’s out of school, not studying, he wants to have fun.

And amongst his classmates... he’s a leader, not a follower.

I wonder most what he will do with his life. He has a brilliant mind and a good head on his shoulders. I find watching him grow up to be fascinating.

And surreal.

I have said often, “It is very very odd… raising your Dad.” He is so much like TGOO.

And so today he turns 12. When I first started this foray into blogging, he was but 8.

Next year he will be a teenager.

Oh! And he really wanted Morrigan to eat eggplant parm last night, but she had me tell him she didn’t want him to have to share his birthday. In reality, she’s just not ready for the baby to be born. Heh.

Bones has spent the day, gathering ‘gifts’ for his older brother, going through things he owns that he thinks his brother will enjoy more. We are wrapping them tonight. (Bones is my thoughtful soft hearted one.)

I had to laugh at ‘gift #6’. Bones opened a tin, and in it were wet wipes, like you get in a BBQ restaurant.

I looked at the wipes and said, “Story?”

Bones replied, “I was in the cafeteria today and I saw they had these. They had BBQ chicken wings for lunch. I thought, “Hey! Mr. T would like these!” so I grabbed some for a birthday gift!”

I can’t quit laughing at… the thoughtfulness. Mr. T is somewhat of a germ phobe. He likes things orderly and doesn’t like his hands to be dirty. The rest of his body? Irrelevant. Hands? Must be clean.

So Bones was spot on and it made me laugh.

And so to Mr. T I say, “Happy Birthday my 2nd son. Should all the children be so blessed to be as loved as you are… for if they were, I suspect the problems of this world would be so very different… We love you so.”

HB mrt 2009.jpg
(See that freckle on his cheek? He keeps trying to pull it off... and of course it comes back. I think he has finally learned. The freckle stays...)

Posted by Boudicca at 09:31 PM | Comments (17) | TrackBack

Why I Only See Doctors Who Run

Today solidified it in my mind, if my doctor is not a runner, I'm not going to him.

I went to the local Urgent Care clinic as I didn't have time to putz around with 'convenient' appointment times with my regular internist. This doc in the box was close to my office and just fit right into my schedule.

Hells bells, my insurance wasn't going to pay for jack anyway, I might as well go where its close.

In walked the doctor, an elderly man, who seemed competent. On a side note, I liked him... a lot.

The following conversation ensued to the best of my recollection:

Me: I ran a marathon last weekend and I messed up my toe. I've been keeping it clean, soaking it in epsom salt three times a day, covering it in neosporin and keeping it wrapped in a clean bandage, changing the bandage after every soak.

Doctor, pressing on it: Does this hurt?

Me: No. Not at all.

Doctor: Really?

Me: No, it just looks bad. I drew a line around the red and the minute the red exceeded the marker, I decided to see someone. Today is the day.

Doctor: Let me compare it to your other toe....

Me: You... well... you can't do that...

Doctor, looks down at my other foot, looks back up at me.

Me: yeah, well, I messed up that toenail in October during a 10 mile run. See? *tap tap tap* Its hollow. Its in the process of coming off... that's why its... white.

Doctor, looking back at the toe I'm there for: It looks like you jammed it.


Doctor: Do you remember jamming it?

Me: Ummm... Yes.

Doctor: You do?

Me: Umm... yes, I remember the EXACT instant. It was at mile 12, and continued to jam against the front of my shoe for the next 14.2 miles...

Doctor: I think its trauma... not infected.

Good Grief.

"Looks like you jammed it" Yah think?

"Do you remember jamming it?" Hello?! HELL YES!

Anyway, great guy. He said he wanted to give me something in case it was infection, but didn't want me to take it for another 3 days, as he wants to rule out inflammation due to trauma.

He said, "I'm giving you some prescriptions... but keep in mind, all this stuff is poison."

THANK YOU! A man on my plane. He may not understand that endurance running will cause toenail injuries, but he DEFINITELY got that needless drugs are just another poison.

Love that.

Posted by Boudicca at 04:19 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

January 19, 2009

Good Reads and Bad Toes

To start on a positive note before I go into a rant, if you have not read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson, I highly recommend it. It was tough for me to find in our bookstore, but so far, it is a most excellent read.

Well… the redness passed the line of demarcation I created on my toe. I took a marker and drew a line and the minute the red exceeded it, it was time for me to see someone.


That time is tomorrow.

I can’t believe I’m being taken down by a frickin’ TOE.

Could it be a broken foot like my girlfriend, Lola, who fractured her foot during her 26.2?


It has to be a frickin’ TOE!

Pisses me off.

I’ve already squared away in my head my schedule for tomorrow, take the kids to school, see the Doc in the Box, go to the bank, go to work.

I’m not sure what irritates me more… the fact that I may have to have the toenail taken off or the fact I will be on antibiotics. Don’t get me wrong… I think there should be large cities named after Alexander Fleming, I just don’t like to take his invention.

I hate putting anything like that in my body.

So here I’ve been dutifully soaking in Epsom salt, keeping it clean, Neosporin, the whole works and I still failed at fighting it and I’m off to have someone poke, jab and dose me with drugs.

And it irritates me to no end, probably because I have no control over it. None. Zippo. I’ve tried… and I’m still at the same spot.



The only saving grace is what I can say to him. I can walk in and say, “Its infected, I’ve tried to combat it, I failed. I did this while running a marathon last weekend.”

There is solace in that.

Take for instance my son. He has a scar on his hand from a flaming piece of marshmallow that landed on it one camping trip. I said to him, “Dude, you gotta change the story. That’s not going to impress the girls.”

Meanwhile, we have a friend whose husband works on the Alaska pipeline. He has a scar on his cheek from going out one day and having one small piece of skin on his face exposed. During certain times, you’re only allowed to stay out for 10 minutes at a time… its serious stuff.

And here he was, a somewhat rookie, one small piece of skin exposed, and BLAMMO! He got frost bite and had to have it burned off, leaving a scar.

I told my son, “OK, now THAT is a story. The flaming marshmallow… not so much.”

Infection in a toe due to a marathon run, I’m cool. It would have just sounded that much cooler if I was saying, “Oh yeah, I broke my foot at mile 20, but kept on going…” like my girlfriend.


A toe.

And I got a call from my coach a couple days ago asking me if I wanted to do the Fort Lauderdale half with her.

I so wanted to do it! Gah! But I had to say to her, “I can’t… walk yet… and… I have this infected toe.”


Next year…

Posted by Boudicca at 09:42 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

January 18, 2009

Secrets Unveiled!

Bones has been wearing headgear when he sleeps for nearly a year. When we got the headgear, he lost the protective strap that goes along the back that keeps the gear from chafing his neck while he sleeps.

I knew I had to find something cushiony, so I went into my drawer and found a padding to one of my push up bras. It has a silky exterior and a cushy interior and looked like it would conform to his neck well.

If it can conform to a breast, surely it would do so with his little neck.

And so for the past year, he has come to me at bed time, with his head gear on, ready for me to hook the strap, bra padding in hand, for me to place it against his neck and strap on his headgear.

I’ve never said a word as to where said cushy pad came from… I figured on the need to know scale it was 0.

And the following conversation ensued tonight to the best of my recollection:

Bones: Mom, so where exactly did you get this little cushion?





Me: It’s from the inside of one of my bras.



Bones: It’s OK. I don’t care. It’s soft.


Posted by Boudicca at 10:08 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack

Changes Abound

My father in law came to dinner tonight. We’ve been throwing about assisted living as of late. A couple weeks ago at dinner, he made mention that there was a place he might want to check out.

I took that as a positive and ran with it. I checked it out and did all the pre-work.

I like this place. It’s clean, bright and cheery, I liked the staff, the price was reasonable, it’s close to his church, to the Knights of Columbus, to where his friends live, close to my kids’ school, close to us when we’re on that side of town.

Tonight was the sales pitch.

I think I hit it out of the ball park.

The bottom line is… he’ll get better care if he is near us. He can get cheaper care near one of the other siblings, but he’ll just be warehoused then. They all work full time and there is a new baby on the way.

I’m a stay at home Mom when my kids are not in school. I can take the boys over there twice a week, check on him, a shuttle will take him to church and to his KoC meetings and he’ll have a life he is accustomed to.

I can run to the grocery store for him once a week and he’ll have contact with us.

He knows… he knows if he is near us, near me, his care will be better.

He and I have had an adversarial relationship, but the fact remains, I made the choice to not work full time so I could be the primary caregiver role. I am the one that ensures everyone’s emotional issues are met… I’m the one that looks in on everyone.

It has caused issues between him and me, as I have no problems speaking my mind, but I have been right spot on 100% of the time.

And he knows it.

And he trusts me and he trusts his son.

The biggest part was convincing him that he could afford it. I went through the numbers and explained he had enough money for 25 years. He’ll be 108 before he runs out of money.

It didn’t completely settle his soul, but I figure if we keep working on him, he’ll be fine. I told him he just needs to have faith that his children are grown and are competent and will do everything right by him.

And they will.

So big changes coming… I’m hoping in the form of the next month. We’ll see.

And I am living my life by the golden rule, “No regrets”. I want no regrets on how he has his last years handled. I don’t want to look back after he is gone and wish I’d done more. When he is gone, I want to know that I have done all that is in my power to make him feel loved and as comfortable as possible.

Getting old sucks. I don’t want to look back and feel like I was part of the problem.

I want to be part of the solution.

Stay tuned.

Posted by Boudicca at 10:06 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

January 17, 2009

When the Teenager is Away, the Bros Will Play

It would seem that my teenager forgot his cell phone on our couch yesterday when he left to spend the night at his buddy’s house.


My younger boys found it.

What do they think they did?

Bones proceeded to take myriad pictures of Mr. T, and then sent them to their Aunt Morrigan. Most of the pictures were of Mr. T staring off into space.



Was of Mr. T taking his leg at the knee, bending so calf met thigh, so in their minds, it looked like a butt crack, and then stuck his finger in it, evidently to simulate a finger stuck in a butt.

Nice, eh?

She said she knew what she was looking at, but was aware of what they were trying to do.

There is a very very pretty girl next door that is Ringo’s age. I think he’s been sweet on her, but I’ve not asked. Bones took a picture of Mr. T and sent it to her too. I'm hoping it was not the fake butt crack picture. They say it was not... but still... there is doubt in my mind.

I asked them, “Did you get text from anyone about these pictures?”

Get this.

They told me NO because… ready?... it is rude to look at someone’s txt messages. They didn’t think they were allowed.

So it’s OK to grab his phone, take lots of pictures, mail them to their aunt and to the little girl next door, but its NOT ok to look at text messages.

For some reason I thought it was funny and I told them, they were correct. Looking at his text messages is off limits.

Posted by Boudicca at 09:23 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

Wait. You’re Kidding. She’s… MARRIED?

It would appear that I’m off to visit the local Doc in the Box tomorrow morning.

The toe isn’t looking to good. Infection, nastiness, not good.

Can I tell you… I am dreading this like natural childbirth. This is going to be needles in my toes and pliers and… Ugh!

I don’t know why I am so icky about this toe thing. It is mental. Its the whole ‘bamboo under the fingernail’ and ‘pliers pulling of fingernails’ torture thing.

I called a girlfriend today, a nurse, and asked her advice. She said to soak it in Epsom salts, dry it, take a marker and mark the red area, put Neosporin on it and wrap it before I sleep. If I wake up and its worse, definitely I need to go to the Urgent Care center.

I said, “Nooo. I so don’t want to do this! They’re going to numb it, pull off the nail, and its going to hurt like a sonofabitch.”

Her reply? “yes, but it is better than losing your TOE.”

At which point I said, “True.”

I was speaking to Morrigan and said, “This is going to be awful. I am so dreading this. Needles in my toe… I’m not this much of a masochist.”

There was a silence and she said, “Oh, yes you are. You just did a marathon.”

I said, “OK, maybe.”

She said, “You’re just into the slow pain…”

Love that. The things you talk about with your sister.

And on a side note, she is getting a pedicure tomorrow getting ready for the big day and I’m getting a toenail pulled off. Maybe we should compare foot pictures…

Meanwhile, I woke up this morning and I have a nasty cold. My hair was all tangly, my eyes bleary, smushed pillow face, trudging through the house, sneezy, sniffly, coughy, ankles still slightly swollen, and an oozy nasty toe and I thought, “I can’t believe I actually found someone to marry me…”

Talk about for better or for worse. We’re definitely walking on the side of worse… a sight to behold I was not this morning.

Good Lord.

And behold the fold, me during better times. This would be at 26.1 miles. You'd never know I felt so... crappy!!!

last point one.JPG

Posted by Boudicca at 09:18 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack

January 16, 2009

The Incredible Shrinking Bucket List

I’ve been checking things off my ‘Bucket List’ left and right as of late and I sure hope it’s not a sign!!

Luckily, my Bucket List was formerly known as the ‘100 things I’d like to do before I die’ and checking off three in a month doesn’t have me too worried.

In December I was able get in touch with someone that meant an awful lot to me when I was a young woman and I was able to tell them something that has weighed on my mind for 25+ years. I had thought often of telling them… telling them all the things they never saw, did not understand, but it was not feasible.

It’s not blog fodder, but just let me say that if it were not for the internet it would not have happened.

My mind has been eased tremendously. A weight of 25+ years, lifted.


Then I completed my marathon.


And then… today.

Sit back, there is background in order to understand… how sometimes God plays a hand, as I do not believe in coincidences… Fate… what is meant to be is meant to be… how we handle things after he has shown the hand is up to us… but everything happens for a reason.

Fourteen years ago, I was heavy with child, my first born. I was working at Company X. I was fairly well liked, although I had my share of detractors, all of whom had probably crossed me and whose throats I had verbally slit without question.

I have my share of personality flaws… I can be short tempered, I loathe laziness and incompetence, I can hold a grudge for a lifetime, and revenge can be waited for… as long as it is attained.

Note the name of this blog… it is not coincidental, but a reflection of my personality.

I can be mean… beyond mean if warranted and feel nothing of it after.

On the flip side, I can be extraordinarily compassionate and giving, I work hard, I’m driven, I expect perfection of myself and am harder on myself than anyone else. I’m more a leader than a follower, and I can be a very good friend. I think of others… put myself in their shoes, often, before making decisions.

I’m trying harder to be more diplomatic, but we are all works in progress.

I am not perfect… and at 43, I’m way OK with that.

And so here I was, ready to have my son, when I read that it was possible to go part time at our company... it was on the books as a benefit. Nobody had ever gone part time before. Sure, there were rumblings that there might be one or two women who had in another engineering department, but in my department of 600?

No. Most certainly not.

I decided that this was the best opportunity for me as I was going to end up quitting to be a stay at home Mom, which was fine, but I was good at my job, and pretty well respected.

I talked it over with my boss and he said, “Sure! Go for it!” and helped me devise a plan as to how it could work.

I took it to HR and he said to me essentially, “NO.” He told me it was selfish of me and that it was absolutely no benefit to the company.

I did a big *blink*.

How could it not benefit the company? If I was a valued employee, wasn’t it better for the company that I stay at least part time, rather than lose me all together?

He said no.

I was pissed.

I came back to my desk, ranting and raving as I am apt to do, looking back, my dear friend who reads here, Kelsey, probably talked me out of that tree, as she did many many times.

I talked to my boss and said, “I’m taking this to the VP.”

Folks… this is a VP of a major Fortune 50 company. This is a man who had 600+ engineers working for him and traveled all over the world… and some pregnant woman was going to go in and bother him with the fact, that in her little world, the books said she could go part time and she wanted to make it happen.

And I did.

I essentially walked in and said, “I want to go part time” and I laid out my plan for him, explaining how it would work, how it wouldn’t hurt the company, and explained the company policy so he understood how I affected head count.

(Head count is big… and part time people were NOT part of head count. Bonus come lay off time… you could keep your part timers and nobody would be the wiser.)

And… he said… NO. I was being selfish, he saw no benefit to the company, too bad, so sad, see ya.

I was pissed.

I came back to my desk and ranted and raved as I am apt to do and told my boss, actually shouted probably towards my boss, “I’m having a BABY! I am NOT buying a DOG!”

Chances are my arms were flailing and I was emoting every way possible.

He sat there quietly absorbing, as probably did the rest of my group.

I was pissed.

It was on the books. It was all laid out… WHY COULD THEY NOT MAKE IT HAPPEN?

I’d done my research; I knew my stuff, but in my world, a world of few women, and even fewer pregnant women, it was new and wasn’t going to happen.

And this is where my Bucket List item comes in.

My boss took it to my manager. He sat down with ‘Bill’ and said, “Look, I am telling you, I’m going to lose her. If they don’t let her come back part time, she’s going to QUIT. I’d rather her be here part time, than not at all.”

And evidently Bill took it back to the VP and fought my battle… and… I was the first woman, the first person, in my department to ever be allowed to go part time.

The benefits at the time were rather crappy… but I’d won and I had only won because of Bill taking on the big guy. (Later on a group of women took on the Benefits and I was given vacation, medical, etc.)

We all went our separate ways eventually. Bill retired, I transferred to a different department while still procreating, eventually the plant shut down and I became a stay at home Mom. (Working even part time with three kids is a bunch of work… there were some dark days.)

Last week, I was in the barber shop with the boys when I saw an engineer I used to work with. We were catching up, he was filling me in on who he kept in touch with and I filled him in with the guys I work with.

Finally I said, “Do you ever talk to Bill?” My old friend said, “Sure I do!”

I replied, “Could you do be a favor and next time you speak to him, please tell him that when he reflects on his life, that he should never underestimate the impact he had on someone’s life…”

Bill has been in my head for 14 years. For 14 years I’ve wanted to thank him again, and more so, the last eight years, I guess… I’ve wondered how he was, this man who took up for me, and wished I could tell him… thank you… again.

And now he would get my message and I was happy.

Tonight, my husband and I went to dinner. I popped in to eat and then had to rush out to pick up Bones from Lacrosse. I was standing in line at the Valet as I’d had to frickin’ valet at this pizza joint, and valeting pisses me off to no end.

I HATE valet. Hate it. I want to park my own car… using a valet… they are invading my space.

I HATE it.

And so I was sitting there waiting for the valet to get my car, when I noticed a gentleman, look around his wife and look at me.

I looked back and realized… “Bill?” He said yes, came around to give me a big hug, to which I said, “NO! I have a cold!” and he replied, “I don’t care!!!”

He told me he had not seen our mutual friend and that is when I looked at him and his wife and said, “Never underestimate the impact you have had on someone’s life. You need to know, you have had a tremendous impact upon mine.”

They both smiled, she said it was sweet, but I meant every word.

And so I crossed that off my Bucket List. I thanked Bill… 14 years later, and let him know how much I still appreciated it… and I feel good.

And if I my husband hadn't insisted on eating out at a place that I don't like much, but where we had a gift certificate, and if I hadn't been forced to valet... I'd never have seen Bill tonight. You see... Bill doesn't even live on my side of town... he lives 30 minutes away.


Posted by Boudicca at 10:16 PM | Comments (10) | TrackBack

January 15, 2009

Broken Bones and Bloody Toes... LOL!!!

Yeah, I’m not into making my toe spurt blood.

Good Lord.

I also couldn’t get my husband to do it, yet another suggestion many made to me, given his many ‘skillz’. I didn’t think he’d be hip on it, although I know he’d have done it for me, and I had no desire, even with him in the lead, to watch any blood spurting from my toe.


Anyway, I think I’ve taken care of most of the situation. Time will tell.

Lola, my local girlfriend the runner who did the marathon with me, called me today to tell me a funny story.

I was on the couch, lying down as I need to keep my feet up three times a day for 20 minutes, wearing compression socks and ice, as I have some serious swelling in my ankles and feet still. It’s not pretty.

Evidently we are referred to at school as the walking wounded team. She walked into the office and someone said, “It’s the other half of the walking wounded”.

We both think that’s funny.

But she was calling me because… on Monday she went for Xrays on her foot and they dismissed her as fine.

She got a call yesterday, which she received today, that said, “Wait! Radiology flagged your Xrays. You have a stress fracture in your foot and need to see an orthopedist!”

She called me laughing. She essentially broke her foot during the marathon.

We both think this is hysterical… she’s probably going to be booted or splinted. Who knows what is going on with me… I’ll find out tomorrow. I’m sure mine will be gone in no time.

But we keep laughing about all this because… WE DID 26.2 MILES! Whoo hooo!

I know… ridiculous. If it happened before, we’d be freaking. But all this is happening after and quite honestly… neither of us could give a crap.

Just as long as it happened AFTER the marathon… its all good!

Posted by Boudicca at 10:35 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

January 14, 2009

Things That Make Me CRINGE and Scream NO!

This is not for the squeamish.

I have a nasty blood blister forming underneath one of my big toe nails. I can't see it so much as I painted it to hide it from the public, but the nail is lifted and I can tell that there is a large pool of blood under it.

(I am having to wear flip flops as my feet are so swollen they won't fit in my regular shoes. Yes, I am starting to get concerned.)

The toe is swollen and yes... it hurts.

I was told I should sterilize a needle and poke a hole through the nail, to relieve the pressure by allowing the blood to come out.

If you made it this far, here is my question to you... am I the only one who feels their skin crawl at the thought of poking a needle through a nail?

Skin crawl may not be a strong enough... description.

Blood runs cold works.

The need to scrunch up one's face and say, "EWWWW!" comes to mind too.

I can't do it. I'll deal with the pain. Maybe my toe will explode spraying blood all over.

So be it.

But I can't do it. As I said to a girlfriend today, "I did natural childbirth. I can deal with this."

I just can't inflict that nasty kind of pain on myself... it makes me sick to think about.

Am I the only one?

Posted by Boudicca at 10:24 PM | Comments (19) | TrackBack

My Marathon Life

I know people have wondered about the marathon and what it takes to complete one.

So… here’s my life. I think I could do it because in my daily life… it’s a marathon on its own.

I got up at 6AM, my feet have been such a disaster my husband said he’d take the kids to school even though it was my day, so I could take my time getting ready for work.

We got the kids up and ready and my husband took them to school while I stood in the shower trying to brace myself for the day.

I ended up leaving the house to get to work at 8:45. I was off…

I worked until 2:25, a hellish day at best, not worth going into, but starting with my walking in to hear my Tech Lead say, “You have nasty email” and my responding, “I’m not looking at it for another hour then because I don’t want to stroke out from being so pissed.”

2:40: Arrived at school mentally exhausted, dropped off Mr. T’s trombone and picked up Ringo. Bones had Cub Scouts until 5:00. I had some things to settle in the school office.

3:20: Took Ringo to his 3:30 bass lesson.

3:30: Back to school to pick up Mr. T from band.

3:45: Picked up Mr. T and drove back to Ringo’s bass lesson.

4:00: Picked up Ringo from his bass lesson and called a girlfriend of mine asking about Lacrosse equipment and where to buy it. She told me she had some I could borrow for the season and asked me to come by.

4:15: Arrived at her house to pick up pads, gloves and clothes.

4:45: Left to drop Ringo back for his 5:00 drum lesson.

5:00: Picked up Bones from his Cub Scout meeting.

5:10: Arrived at the Lacrosse store to buy a Lacrosse stick and extra pads for the forearms.

5:30: Pick up Ringo from drum lessons.

5:45: Arrived at parking lot to drop Mr. T and Ringo off with my husband so Bones and I could proceed to Lacrosse.

5:55: Lacrosse… Bones changed and got him situated with his team.

8:00: Lacrosse over.

8:20: Arrive home and eat dinner.

8:45: Help Mr. T with his Math homework while my husband helps Bones finish his homework.

9:45: Ready for bed, blogging, and beat.

This will be how every Wednesday runs, with the exception of Cub Scouts as that was a fluke and my husband and I will be tag teaming Lacrosse. He will more than likely stay for Lacrosse… he’s good at keeping Bones motivated.

Watching those kids with those sticks…. Good grief. With their padding they looked like a bunch of little Transformers.

With their tshirts on over their padding? Bones looked like Beetlejuice at the end of the movie with the little teeny head and the big big body. Heh heh heh.

I’m going to start saying to him, “Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice!”

Posted by Boudicca at 10:19 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

January 13, 2009

Math Attitude

I'm beat to hell tonight. I had board meetings, after school events for the kids, work, and then found myself teaching my eldest boy his Algebra.

His teacher moves too fast and... whatever. It is what it is and I'm happy he's putting the time into it and asking me.

I'm ELATED he's asking me.

And a sidenote, I think its pretty frickin' RUDE for someone to laugh when a math tutor's son makes a bad grade in math. Everyone knows I tutor math at night and occasionally my son will make a grade that's not so great, some parent will find out (kids talk amongst themselves) and make some joke about it to me.

So while I'm tired and kind of 'done' today, let me state up front, any time a kid makes less than he is capable of on a test, and someone laughs... my answer is officially F*** you.

I don't think its funny when a kid doesn't grasp a concept and I don't care if its science and his Dad is frickin' Einstein.

Its NOT funny.

Yes, my son is struggling with Algebra. Yes, he has the aptitude. Yes, we are spending much needed time on it... but there is NOTHING funny about it.

Frickin' pisses me off.

On a different note... my Trig student got a B for the second 9 weeks, making me happy as he had a frickin' D by the time he called me. I thought he was doing GREAT, never having heard a daggum word from him, only to get a call saying, "Help! I think I'm going to fail!"

Scared the crap out of both of us... him because he didn't want to fail, me because I'd not done Trig in... 25 years? Since my senior year in high school?

What I did remember was how much I loved Trig and how I made A's. What I didn't remember was... anything.

Luckily it all came back and I think he was astounded by the end when I'd say, "Look, you do this this and this, this happens... and if you remember this formula..."

I even laughed at myself.

So he pulled a B for the 9 weeks and on the Final, giving him a B for the term and he was happy.

He has analytical geometry next and I told him, "DO NOT WAIT UNTIL YOU ARE FAILING TO FRICKIN' CALL ME!" Luckily I loved this class more... and I remember all of it... but damn he can't wait that long.

I'm too competitive. I want him to get an A.

And yes, I want my son to get an A in Algebra too... but he too can't wait until he's snowed to ask for help.

He seems to understand now as every day this week he's asking me to check his homework.

Bonus points for today... I can walk. I still look like I need a walker when I get out of chair, but I can walk.

Damn I have ugly feet...

Oh and I got coerced into signing Bones up for Lacrosse. Like I needed the blog fodder. My ADHD kid running around with a big frickin' stick in his hand... good Lord.

Brace yourself.

Posted by Boudicca at 11:15 PM | Comments (10) | TrackBack

January 12, 2009

Still Eating Ibuprofen Like Candy

So what are you doing tonight?

I’m painting my toenails a deep dark red as I was told my feet are starting to make people lose their appetite.

It was all in jest… but folks, they look really really bad and I’m stuck wearing flip flops until the swelling in my feet goes down enough that I can wear shoes. (My doctor said to me today, “Girl, if I had an ice bath here, I’d put you in it.” Yeah, I’m a wreck.)

I’m also popping blisters. I have blisters on my feet that are so big and so… well… they don’t leave my mind. They’re like new appendages for my feet.

I’m taking the advice of my doctor tonight and running a sterilized needle through them with a thread. It drains them overnight, the thread acting as a wick.

I may need to sleep with a bucket under my feet… OK, yeah, even I thought that vision was nasty.

I’m still on my ‘I completed a marathon’ high!

I have this urge to tattoo it on my body so nobody ever forgets. Forty years from now, as they prepare my body for embalming (cremation, however, is my choice for 'The End'), the techs can look at my body and say, “HEY! This old gal did a marathon!”

Writersblock has her post up on her completion HERE. God Bless her. My worst fear, happened to her... getting sick on the course. And she finished.

She is a testimony to the human spirit and endurance. And what she said was true… she nailed it… the guy who finished first, his medal looked EXACTLY like ours.

How true.

And… let me tell you, even though I’m sitting here with my feet all puffy, they can’t handle the weight of my body, my toenails are every shade of purple and black and I feel certain I’ll never have to remove this nail polish as my toenails will just peel off way before its time (another nasty visual)… it was all worth it.

All of it.

And to end with a funny story, I walked into my doctor’s office, got on the table and he took my right foot in his hands and said, “Hey, you didn’t lose the toenail during the run!” (He thought that’s when it would finally come off.)

I replied, “Umm, well no, because you have the wrong foot. It’s THIS (holding up left foot) foot that is losing the nail.”

He looked down at the left foot, nail white from being disconnected and started to laugh and said, “I guess you’re going to lose them both now. Man, we need to talk about your shoes. You still have issues.”

Oh yes I do.

But guess what?

Today they don’t matter because… I finished my marathon! Whooo hoooo!

Posted by Boudicca at 10:19 PM | Comments (10) | TrackBack

January 11, 2009

Recapping the Marathon Experience... Amazing

It was an amazing experience. Absolutely amazing.

And I’ve now checked it off my Bucket List or rather my Top 100 things I want to do before I die, and will NEVER, absolutely NEVER, do another Full Marathon EVER again.

Been there, done that, and YES, I have the tshirt. I wore it today. I’ll be damned if every person who didn’t see me after in public, didn’t know I’d just completed the Disney FULL Marathon.

So many funny things… so many things you learn about yourself and mostly, I’m glad I trained so hard and 1) learned to listen to my body, 2) listened to EVERYTHING my coaches told me, 3) listened to everything my doctor told me, and 4) that my coach, at the last minute, decided to do the ENTIRE thing with me… and if not for her, I’d not have finished when I did.

I think I hit the wall around mile 18. (The course is HERE.) I spent the next 8.2 miles trying to keep up with her as she coaxed me through. She’d slow down and then slowly slowly pick up the pace until I was back in our rhythm.

SHE is… an angel and a saint.

And let me tell you, it was hotter than three hells out there this afternoon. By mile 18, my butt was dragging, I’d added nearly a minute to my walk time, couldn’t run another lick, and was praying it would rain.

But today I also ate the BEST banana of my life, realized that when life seems to suck that something as simple as a Diet Coke can be a wonderful temporary cure, have decided to create a shrine to sponges in my home, met some really funny and amazing people, and other than the last 8.2, had a GREAT time.

And the last 8.2 wasn’t ALL bad. We managed to find some excellent laughing moments.

I passed a couple girls wearing a tshirt that said, “Put on your big girl panties and run!” We all laughed, but… I really really wanted to say, “Real girl runners don’t wear panties.” (We have built in stuff in our running shorts like the guys do.)

I didn’t say it however, and I chalk that up to my advancing age and great realization that not ALL things need to be said.

By mile 14, I was DONE with sports beans. I had to have them, they kept my energy levels up, but at mile 20 my coach said, ‘When was the last time you Gu’d?’

This was in reference to this stuff that runners eat… it’s like a nutritionally jacked up frosting.

I can’t eat it, so I do beans. I said to her, “Mile 14. If I eat another sports bean, I’m going to vomit.”

She bought me a diet coke, the best damn diet Coke I’ve ever had in my life. I may have only had three or four sips, but they were cold and they had caffeine and it was GOOD! I was in my happy place for about .5 miles.

I’m not kidding.

One of the stops had sponges… soaked in cold water. I wiped myself down and kept the sponge and at every water stop following (one per mile and I think the sponge stop was mile 16), I grabbed a Powerade to drink and two cups of water.

I drank the Powerade, drank half a cup of water, filled the sponge with the remaining water, and then took my hat off and poured the other cup over my head… for EVERY mile following.

I think I dumped 9 cups of water over my body, trying to keep cool.

That sponge saved my life. I was constantly wiping down my face and neck, squeezing water down my shirt… the last two miles, I clutched that sponge in my left hand like my life depended on it.

It was a definite ‘you’ll pry this sponge from my cold dead hands’ moment.

My left hand swelled to epic proportions. I did not know… it was possible… for my hand to get that big. And just as quickly, when I was cooled off… it went back down.

You’d never know I had Mickey Mouse glove hands just 9 hours ago.

And whoda thunk that this girl chocoholic would not want chocolate?

Good grief, at around mile 23 they had this chocolate station where people were handing out those little chocolate Hershey bars. You know the kind, they come in a bag, Special Hershey’s, Mr. Goodbar.

I took two thinking, “Oh this could be good”, popped the Hershey’s bar in my mouth and immediately my body said, “NO! BAD IDEA! I HATE CHOCOLATE. YOU ARE DONE WITH SPORTS BEANS AND CHOCOLATE. NO!!!’

I managed to choke it down, but tossed aside the other.

At mile 23.5, there was a dark longish tunnel for us to cross through. We were hoping it was air conditioned, but just out of the sun was nice. We got to the tunnel and as we all walked through it, you could have heard a pin drop.

Nobody talked.

Nobody said anything and I looked at my coach and whispered, “We look like the walking dead… the whole lot of us.”

I also think the man who invented Ibuprofen should have lots and lots of things named after him… maybe sports stadiums, major highways, airports, maybe a city or two.

Pictures to follow. The Red Lobster was a hit.

As of now?

I’m on… ibuprofen and am in significant pain.

I can no longer walk and am currently either moving tippy toe around my house or am crawling. (Not kidding... wish I was.)

My hip flexors are frozen up and sore and the arches of my feet are feeling… bruised. I’m icing and going to bed.

I will lose the OTHER big toe nail as well… I’ll have matching toenail-less big toes, and potentially a couple others.

I have some blisters on my feet that are just absolutely tremendous. One is as big in diameter as a half dollar and is at least 1/4” high. I have them on the sides of my feet, on top of toes, and places in between.

I'm feeling very blessed my husband did not marry me for my feet.

And… yes… it was all worth it. I completed, it’s done, and I felt like I finished strong considering how crappy I felt.

It was worth ALL OF IT.

And for the record, my group fielded 13 runners and one walker/runner… me. I beat FIVE of the runners. Not that I’m competitive or anything, but it made me feel good.

It really did.

Special thanks to TGOO for live blogging!!! Whoo hooo!

And Special thanks to my Mom who… sent a note when I completed to all her friends, who have in turn responded, and then when I called, Mom had a little mini party for me with noise makers and lots of cheering! I don’t know if my Dad partook or if just Mom made all that cheering and noise maker noise, but Good Lord it warmed my heart. (I suspect TGOO partook because that was a LOT of cheering and noise for one person to make!)

There are some things that just make you smile… and when you dig out that memory, in years to come, will make you smile again.

I’m off to bed… that 2:15AM wake up to start this gig has taken its toll.

And THANK YOU for YOUR support… and for caring enough to read. Thank you for seeing me through this… for listening to my innermost fears, that people around me did not always hear as it is easier to extrovert here than in person, to watching the highs and lows, for telling me I *could* do it… when in my head, I had started to wonder.

And we all know… it’s all mental. It had messed with my mind, and you had faith.

Thank you.

Posted by Boudicca at 09:34 PM | Comments (23) | TrackBack

Final update at 1114

It's over, sports fans. Boudicca finished with a time of 6 hours 05 minutes and a few seconds. She said she feels good, except her feet hurt. Wonder why?

That's it for me, folks.


Posted by TGOO at 12:17 PM | Comments (26) | TrackBack

1036 Sitrep

Mile 24. Digging deep, now. The end is near.


BTW, you all realize that the times I'm giving are CST, don't you? I'm in the western end of the Panhandle. Boudicca is in EST, so she's an hour later.

Posted by TGOO at 11:38 AM | Comments (8) | TrackBack

0953 Sitrep

Just passed mile 21; only 5.2 remaining. There's a light at the end of the tunnel. There are water stations every mile now and the crowds have thinned out a little. I'd expect them to increase considerably around the finish line. It's a beautiful, warm winter day in the sunshine state. This will feel so good when its over.


Posted by TGOO at 10:59 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

0917 Sitrep

Just passed mile 19. Only 7.2 to go. That should be a cake walk. It's clear, hot and humid. The water people gave her a sponge soaking with water.

Life isn't quite as good, but it's not suffering yet. */;-)


Posted by TGOO at 10:23 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

0832 Sitrep

Passing mile 15.7, just having eaten the best banana ever! There are high school marching bands along the way to provide the motivational music. One spot had just a drum line to provide background ambiance. No sign of Goofy or Pluto.

Posted by TGOO at 09:39 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Meanwhile, at mile 14...

Boudicca passed mile 14 at 3+02. She commented that "if I ever eat another sports bean the bile will rise." She ate a banana and took her last 4 ibuprofen.

There's still a nice crowd of spectators, and there's music along the way.

Life is good, according Boudicca, the running machine. Maybe at some point Pluto will run along with her, or Goofy, or one of those Disney dogs.

Check back in an hour or so.


Posted by TGOO at 09:21 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

And They're offfff.....

It's race day, folks, tine to start putting one foot in front of the other for 26.2 miles. Forget the long training runs. Forget the ugly shoes. Forget the garish tape on your legs. It's time to enjoy the experience.

I spoke to Boudicca a few minutes age, at 0800 EST. She was passing mile 9.45 with a good crowd of spectators, in excellent weather. At start time it was cool and crisp, but it's expected to be pretty warm this afternoon. Disney has water every 2 miles.

Boudicca's coach is running with her and will stay her for the entire 26.2 miles. There's no pain, just euphoria. In Boudicca's own words, "we own this race".

Check back. I'll post every hour or so.


Posted by TGOO at 08:17 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

January 09, 2009

In Red Lobster vs. Green Octopi, Lobster Wins

We leave in a few hours for Disney and for… marathon weekend.

We’re all exhausted this morning, having stayed up to watch that game. Gah! All the Gator clothes are packed for this weekend. As soon as the Gators won, there was a big push to make sure all the Gator clothes were in suit cases.

As I said, TGOO will be live blogging the marathon. I’ll have my cell phone on and will be calling him with updates.

HOWEVER, according to Disney, there is a way for people who know me to track me. I hear it doesn’t always work well, as in their system gets way overloaded and you won’t necessarily get the updates.

Go HERE, click on Spectator Resources, under runner tracking...click on whole marathon, register by selecting a name and password, then go down, search for my name and fill it out accordingly.

As I said, it may not work. And as I said... TGOO will be live blogging.

I may or may not be checking email… I’m not sure if I will have connectivity, although I am taking my lap top. I need to be able to keep my iPod charged.

26.2 is a long damn time for me to be stuck in my head… and I hear there are some nasty lonely parts.

So, to end this on kind of a funny story and to give you a visual, and yes, I will try to get a picture of this…

I told you HERE of what I’ll be wearing for the warm up phase. When running a marathon, Fashionista does not come into play.

Think about the Olympics. The sprinters have the long nails, the funky long arm gloves, the gobs of gold bangles, necklaces, bracelets, ear piercings.

The distance runners have scant make up, are dressed in something that looks like it belongs on a beach, and have NO jewelry. Every ounce counts. Plus, when you finish 10000 meters, you look far different than when you finish 100.

OK, so my doctor, who is an ironman triathlete, told me that we need to have a raft to sit on. The staging area is long and cold. I’ll be sitting on pavement for up to 2 hours and we all know, with my injury, I don’t need to be standing on it any longer than I need to.

So I spoke to my girlfriend that I kind of coerced into this, I’ve not blogged on her much, but let us call her Lola. She’s an absolute riot and when we get together, I laugh incessantly. She’s a middle school teacher at my boys’ school. (We’re not doing the event together as she’s like a gazelle. She’s built more like Shalane Flanagan and is going to be doing 9-10 minute miles, probably through most if it.)

During our conversation, I asked her if she had a raft and that I was going to get one. I told her I’d pick up one for her while I was out.

I searched through Publix and picked our rafts… and called her back while in the parking lot and the following conversation ensued to the best of my recollection. Please keep in mind, that by all that know me, my math geekiness is very… pronounced. It’s laughed about a lot… also keep in mind, she and I have been a bit worried about blowing up these rafts.

The thought of hyperventilating and then doing 26.2 does nothing for us.

We’ll be taxing our lungs enough doing the event…

Me: Hey! I got us rafts, but… I needed to prepare you for something.

Lola: Oh?

Me: Yeah, well, I stood in the raft section and calculated the volume for all these rafts…

Lola: Bwhahahahahaha! Of course you did!

Me: I know…

Lola: But we need that. We need to expend as little air as possible…


Lola: I think that calculating the volume was not hard for you….

Me: Well, calculating it for the doughnut rafts was tough as I had to take out the center as there is no blow up there…

Lola: Ahhh… yes.

Me: So here’s the deal. The smallest volume rafts were the kids’ rafts and it’s why I’m calling. Umm. We’re sitting on red lobster rafts.

Lola: Red lobster rafts?

Me: Yeah, we had the choice of a lobster or a green octopus.

Lola: *pause* Excellent choice. I definitely would rather sit on lobster than octopi…

Me: My thought exactly.

Lola: Besides, it will coordinate with the red blanket I have… Hey, is it small like to sit on or could we lay on it?

Me: Well, it’s the kind that you lay on if you’re diminutive in stature.

So there you have it folks. I’ll be in shiny silver snappy rip off sweat pants, a funky light blue hoody, and sitting on a red lobster child’s raft. Since I’m about hobbit sized, I could very well by laying on it.

Like I said… the goal is for a picture.

Really. You can’t beat that with a stick.


Hey. And THANK YOU. Thank you for everything y’all have done. And black won… I’m going for Black K-tape.

I just need to go with a different shampoo. I changed last night and I don’t think I can go for 6 hours with my hair smelling like this. I might vomit… when you're tired and have been running for that long, the least little thing can be an irritant.

So much to think about…

Posted by Boudicca at 08:09 AM | Comments (17) | TrackBack

January 08, 2009

Football and Marathon talk

I may not be able to watch this game. I know I said I'd live blog it... but I'm physically sick watching it.

The marathon has left me all stressed out... so the least thing kind of throws me over the edge.

FL just threw an interception and I just yelled nasty words at the TV.

So if I end up blogging about this game, this is the official language alert. It ain't gonna be pretty.

And there are too many commercials...

FTR, I've written my ode to the Sooners, just in case. I so don't want to use it...

Update: FL defense looks good.

You know what scares me? The Sooner Defense... those guys have no necks.

FL Offense isn't looking so hot. They can't keep dropping and slipping.

Just and FYI, TGOO will be live blogging my marathon on Sunday. His starting post is HERE, if you missed it...

The Gators need to score or I'm going to just have a heart attack... if my husband and Mr. T don't beat me to it. Everyone in my house is dancing around the TV, screaming. "Go Tim Go!!!"

Ummm... I may not be able to stay in the same room with my husband in this game. My quote: "Hun, Urban knows what he's doing..."

Quote from Bones: "Dad, what in the heck is a Sooner?" Heh.

Second Quarter and nobody scored. Dammit.


Gators need to SHUT THEM DOWN. Holy crap.

Oklahoma is just passing it down the field effortlessly. I'm gonna stroke...

GRRRR!!!! Dammit! Touchdown Oklahoma. *&^@!!!! *(*&^**&^!!!

I think if I keep watching, the Gators are going to lose...


GAH! I can't take it. I can't watch. Done. I'm done.

Going to shower. I can't take it...

Further proof I should not watch... I walked out of the room and FL stopped them on the 4. If I'd been in here, the Sooners would have scored.

I'm going to shower.

I need to come out and find the Gators scored 5 times...

Daggum it. That didn't happen.

I just got off the phone with Jayzapiper, the man for whom the Ode has been written in the event FL loses. What a GREAT guy!

I think the Sooners are going to take this. I really do. FL just does not look like they own the field. Its a Defensive game... so far.

So far, it really is an evenly matched game. I'm just waiting for one of the teams to blow it open... wear the other one down.

Holy crap. Murphy is hurt...

I'm sorry, but Tim Tebow is an amazing athlete. He really is. He may not have deserved the Heisman this year, but you cannot take from the fact, he really is an amazing athlete!

I think my husband is about to have a stroke... holy crap. Big face mask penalty. If they hadn't called it, they would have been able to hear about it from West Palm Beach, via our television.


I'm LOVIN' The big Florida D takin' down Bradford!


I asked for a close game and I got it. Touchdown Sooners. Good Lord. I think I'm going to have heart failure.
HOOOOOOLY shit.... What in the hell was that? 50 yards?! Percy is like a frickin' FREIGHT TRAIN!

... and now he's hurt. This is too much up and down for me. Gah!


Florida needs to blow this open. 17-14... we need to open this up. Percy needs to break free and do his best Usain Bolt imitation. We need to take this game home.

Please... Tim... Please find all your receivers. Please... take it down and score. Blow it out. I can't take this anymore... I need stability in my life.

asdjfadjfaskjdfaskjdfakjsdf;aksjdfalksjdfalksjdfakjsdfk I can't take this.

This game is all about grinding it out... grinding down the other team.

akjaskjfaskdjfaskjdfalkjsdfk score Tim score... on the 3. Do it to it. Score. kjaslkjdfakjsdfkajsdkjfasdkjfaskjdfasjkdf



This is mental now. The Gators are ridin' HIGH. They are energized... It is going to be TOUGH for the Sooners to keep them down, but if anyone can, the Sooners can.

Holy crap.

My husband's God Son is in the Gator Band. I keep looking for him... what a great time to be in the Gator Band.

CHOMP! CHOMP! Eat the clock, Gators! Eat the clock!!!

2:26 and Florida has the ball back on their own 30!!! Holy crap... holy crap... holy crap...

The guys on the sidelines may be screwing around, but Tim has business to attend to. Burn this clock. Run that ball. SCORE! SCORE! SCORE!!!

The Gators have no business celebrating. Get it done. Get it done.

1:39. Mr. 4th best QB in the Big 12... may have gotten the flag... but good for him. That guy should never have said that. NEVER. It was rude and you don't mess with Tim Tebow.

48 seconds left... they need to finish this game, but let me say, this was a well matched game. Nobody better 'dis the Sooners.

The Sooners are a DAMN GOOD TEAM. They're just #2.


24-14... and the game was much closer than the score indicates. The Sooners played a FANTASTIC game.

Suddenly everyone in the house is packing their Gator clothes for the trip this weekend...

Posted by Boudicca at 08:42 PM | Comments (15) | TrackBack

Can You Hear Me Now?

Sunday, as Boudicca winds her way through 26.2 miles of Florida real estate, I'll try to keep up an on-line saga of her travails. Tune in to this URL during the day and see how she's progressing.

Will her ITB sing like a banjo? Will she rip off her clothes and run naked through the street? Will she mentally compose a sequel to War and Peace as she runs?

Join me Sunday for the "running" updates.


Posted by TGOO at 11:34 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

BIG Game. BIG. Very Big

The big game is tonight.

Holy crap the Gators need to win.

I'm sitting here working on my "Ode to the Sooner" should the Gators lose and let me reiterate, I am a creative vacuum. I am the black hole of creativity and rhyme.

I can write what I see...

It will be infinitely easier for me if the Gators just win this. And no heart attack victory either.

No frickin' Hail Mary's in the 4th with 3 seconds to go.


It needs to be definitive, they need to keep the lead, and they need to win.

I have not the faith that is going to happen... but Good Lord, I hope.

Holy crap, that Gators need to win this...

Yes, I may blog it live. The ups and downs. If there is potential for this to be a miserable experience with my stroking out, you get to live through it with me.


Go Gators!!!


Posted by Boudicca at 10:55 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

January 07, 2009

If Elvis Was Running On Mars...

For the first time in my life, I bought clothing that you can rip off your body in one… rip.

Another first… Wow.

For this marathon, we were told it could be cold and we have to sit in a staging area, outside, on the pavement for a couple hours. We would need something to keep us warm until we start to run. We were told to buy cheap sweat suits that we could toss and Disney in turn, picks up all the tossed clothing and gives them to the homeless.

The goal is, of course, to be able to get this clothing off as fast as you can. So we were also told, to take a pair of scissors and cut from the ankle up, so we could readily slip them off, over our tennis shoes, casting said pants aside.

We need to be quick strippers.

I walked through Target today, trying to find sweats on sale.

And Lo and Behold, on the sale rack, was a funky and hideous pair of silver pants, no telling the material, wide cut and… with snaps from waist to ankle.

Holy crap. It was like Mars meets Elvis meets stripper.

They were $5.

I bought them.

Along with this hideous blue hoody. (When did this ‘hoody’ thing come about? When did a sweat shirt become a hoody? I missed that.)

Some homeless person is going to look like class with those shiny silver relaxed fit snappy pants and funky blue hoody.

Now all I need is a cheap blow up raft to sit on. My doctor told me yesterday, people will offer me large sums of cash for my raft after sitting for about 15 minutes on that cold pavement.

Large sums of cash won’t pry it from my tacky clad body.

Fortunately 10 minutes into my run I'll be stripping down. Hell, by mile 10 I'll be so daggum hot, I'll want to run naked.

...tis always the case.

And remember… YOU pick the K-tape. So far, black is in the running, but I suspect Pink could still overtake.

You can vote once a day.

And just to set things straight… if Pink wins, I’m not keeping that strip Pink. I’m getting a big black marker and writing down the entire length of the strip, “FOR JOAN”.

I’m going to be a walking billboard… “FOR JOAN!” My arms, my legs... I still think black looks way tough.

Go HERE to vote.

Posted by Boudicca at 10:37 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

January 06, 2009

Reader Interaction: YOU Pick the K-tape

So I’ve gotten the two thumbs up from my doctor that all is well for the race, I’m not going to rupture anything, and I should embrace the anxiety and just work through the pain, with the help of 800 mg of Motrin at the beginning of the race and at mile 13.

I go in to see him Friday right before I leave for Orlando for my final taping.

I decided to make this a bit more interactive and since y’all have stood by me for every step of this race, from my fundraising, my first run in the pouring rain, when I first got injured and remained so, my Magic Shoes (too heavy to run in… I had to get lighter ones), my first half marathon, the subsequent injuries and bruising, running in the cold, and everything else…

… I’ll let y’all pick the color of my K-tape.

I have a choice of four colors. I told my doctor today I was letting y’all pick. And when this race is done, I’ll also be linking to his website, so that people who are looking for a GREAT sports physiologist in my area will know, he’s The Man.

Voting closes on Friday at 9:00, when I leave for my appointment. My doctor said, “You want people to be able to see it?” and I replied, “It’s up to my readers…” He seemed to think this was a funny idea.

So have at it folks. I’m not exactly the fashionista, shunning all that even deals with that stuff, so I’m game. You pick, I wear.

And just so you know what I'm wearing race day, they’re black running shorts with a purple Team in Training logo on the left leg, a purple sleeveless shirt (I got a bigger one so I don’t look like an overstuffed grape anymore), blue Brooks shoes, white socks, and a white Team in Training baseball cap.

Oh and my name is on the front of the purple singlet… and I think it will be in Neon Yellow… Mr. T picked the color.

And I’m writing Joan’s name in black on my arm. She’s traveling up to watch me run… I’m wearing her name on my body.

What Color K-Tape Should I Use for Race Day?
Beige (It blends.)
Black (Looks totally tough.)
Hot Pink (More like a fuscia... please keep in mind this is ME, we're talking about.)
Red (Could be viewed as a 'power' color.)
pollcode.com free polls


Posted by Boudicca at 10:06 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

Cutting Loose

Today was a seriously crappy day at work.

It started with me going to my kids’ school to do my Treasurer’s job and people asking me how I thought it would go at work.

It was a polite question. I answered in turn, “Oh today will be a slow day. Company X has been closed for two weeks…”

I even had a BIG cup of coffee to make sure I had the energy to sort through email and sludge through this very complicated project I’m working on. If you know me personally… I DO NOT NEED coffee. I have big energy already.

And I got to work and ended up in the middle of a frickin’ snake pit with email, voice mail, questions, and just… a mess.

A panic to the nth degree.

I was already hopped up on caffeine, add the adrenaline rush of everything hitting the fan and I was seriously in a foul mood wanting to crawl out of my skin.

I got off the phone at one point and one of the guys behind me said, “Oh… this is not good.”

I took a deep breath and said, “I need to take a walk. I have to get my head back in the game.” And I walked to get it all straight in my head until I could start making more phone calls, firing off more email and figure out what in the hell had happened and who had done what to who… all of which was out of my control.

And as I thought it could not get worse… every… step… of… the… way… it did. And in some ways, one part was absolutely terrifying.

I left work thinking, “Why am I doing this? They are not paying me enough.”

I had to go to my zen place... the cabin that doesn't exist in the mountains, where its just me, a big kitchen, my books, a garden and a big dog. If I didn't go there... I was going to have to fight that urge to bolt... that other horrible dream of taking I-95N until I hit Maine and then taking the ferry to Nova Scotia.

I even have someone I could SEE in Nova Scotia, except its too frickin' cold there right now and even they don't live there this time of year.

But this afternoon… everything started to look up and by tonight… I could not ask for anything better as I found myself eliminating myself from the head of a committee I was on.

I’m in so many daggum organizations either running, chairing, or advising (Parliamentarian). I’m frickin’ sick of it all.

My goal this year has been to start telling people NO. And in the last 5 months I have successfully extricated myself from one position and one committee chair.

That alone, tonight, was enough to completely offset all the crap that happened at work, except for that one completely terrifying moment I can’t blog upon.

Now I’m sitting here thinking… after this marathon… what else can I eliminate?

It’s really quite… liberating.

Posted by Boudicca at 10:00 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

January 05, 2009


I’m not typically political… and will not get into a lot now.

But… because I hadn’t put it out there… not that there was any doubt… I stand with Israel.

I occasionally get a hit from Israel here. In case any Israelis run across this, not that anyone cares, I just wanted it out there.

I Stand With Israel.jpg

Thank you to Bob for the flag. I just need to figure out how to put it in my sidebar. I'm technically challenged that way, you know.

Posted by Boudicca at 09:02 PM | Comments (6)

Oh Yeah?! Well, I Can Light that Grill in TWO Seconds!

For you Pyros that didn’t comment on my Pyromania Post and for those that did and didn’t catch the reference, please feel free to visit this Youtube video of George Gobel and some engineers out of Purdue, light a grill in 2.5 seconds using LOX.

This was all the rage to talk about back when I worked for Company X and some of the folks I knew worked on the LOX pumps on a certain motor that propelled a certain space vehicle.

You can read Dave Barry's column on it HERE. I know, I send you to dear old Dave, a lot. He's obviously one of my favorite columnists.

Posted by Boudicca at 08:58 PM | Comments (9) | TrackBack

Granny Throws Caution Into The Wind... It's Not Like She Can Get Pregnant

My father in law will be going to assisted living within the next month, if the right people have the right space for him. It’s been coming and he’s moved into acceptance.

I believe his choice will be… to live closest to my husband and me. I don’t know how this will work out, but if he lives closer, he’ll be visited regularly by me and my children. I can get to know the nursing staff and understand what goes on in his daily life.

If he moves south near one of the other kids, he’ll essentially be warehoused.

I decided to do some footwork today for my husband at a place Pop wants to consider. I figured if it was a dump, it saved my husband some time.

I’ve done this before… four years ago. At the place I visited four years ago, the woman giving me a tour told me the story of walking out on the back deck to find a crowd of octogenarians drinking margaritas, blaring Jimmy Buffet, and all singing at the top of their lungs, “LET’S ALL GET DRUNK AND SCREW!”

She laughed about it. I laughed about it.

Today, as I left this new place, I told the woman giving me the tour the story. She said, “Oh we have stories here…”

When my boys were out of ear shot she explained that everyone had to be accounted for in the Assisted Living portion every night. If not, the Sheriff’s office is called, every door in the facility is knocked on searching for the missing resident, dogs are brought in, helicopters, the whole nine yards.

Perhaps it is an exaggeration, but I think not much…

Evidently one night, an elderly gentleman from the Assisted Living end was missing. Frantically, the staff knocked door to door to see if anyone had seen him.

They got to the Independent Living facility, to one elderly woman’s apartment, and she opened the door… bare chested. They told her who they were looking for, and she looked over her shoulder at the man sitting in her living room and said, “Hey! Isn’t that your name?”

I could not quit laughing. It sounded like something that would happen in college.

Now, there are people who would be completely aghast at these two stories. There are people horrified that the elderly have sex.


I think they’re GREAT stories and… they give me hope! Aging doesn’t have to be all bad… I intend to make the best of it.

Even if I am crippled from this marathon…

I want to be like those folks!!! But I don't see myself quite so freewheeling as that Granny...

Posted by Boudicca at 08:47 PM | Comments (9)

January 04, 2009

Def Leppard Wrote My Kids' Theme Song

I have heard people ask, “If you were to have a theme song for your life, what would it be?”

Not being so good with music, I couldn’t answer. My life is crazy, we laugh a lot, I laugh at ME a lot, and at 43 years old, what phase would I pick? Growing up, teenage angst, corporate 20s, family 30s or ‘tired of taking everyone’s sh**’ 40s?

No clue.

But I feel certain that my boys’ theme song is “Pyromania”.

WHAT.IS.IT about boys and fire? What… is… it?

It started with the magnifying glass and burning holes in leaves.

Last week one of the Moms said to me, no kidding, “Bou, I remember the first time I drove past your home, 8 years ago, your boys were in the driveway and had a fire going.”

Folks, my driveway is concrete. They had gathered enough grass, dried twigs and leaves, to start a small fire with a magnifying glass. But they were ALWAYS doing that. Always.

My boys always smelled like smoke.

I got tired of fighting it. I set up rules. I found that if I set up rules, they’ll follow them. If I flat tell them NO on things they can’t get past, its torture for all of us. (Side note, I say NO to a lot… there is a lot of angst in this house… I am their PARENT, not their friend.) I didn’t need them sneaking playing with fires in their bedrooms and burning our damn house down.

The rule was that it had to be on a solid surface (driveway) or in dirt and there had to be water nearby, and it had to be small fire.

Long gone were the days when my Mom walked outside to find my boys in her street, fanning a 3 foot flame with a small Dixie cup of water as back up.

I really laid out the rules, the first and foremost being, I must ALWAYS be asked first. The minute I found they were making a fire and I wasn’t in the Loop, their butts were mine and there would be no fire building for the rest of their lives… which meant, no learning how to use Dad’s grill, no lighting fires in fire places if I was there… NOTHING.


I would be 80 and still not let them light a fire at my home.

And they got it. To this day, they always ask and if I say no, they don’t.

They don’t mess with Mom. They think I’m half psycho when I get pissed and there is always a little fear in the back of their minds that I might spontaneously combust if they push too far, although the little pyros that they are, they might like that.

So… this fire thing died down. I knew it would. Every now and then someone will go out with a magnifying glass… “Mom! I’m going to burn!”, but for the most part, the fascination has dissipated.


My oldest boy went to a rock concert and was given a lighter as a token gift.


You would think that this child himself discovered fire.

I’m not kidding. He whips out the lighter and all three sets of eyes widen and their faces slacken and they may even drool as they look at this little silver item that produces… fire.

(Sidenote: There are now rules that go with the lighter. We have more rules in this house than the Marine Corps.)

The latest thing this week has been wanting to start a fire with the lighter.

Folks, this is what is going to send us all into therapy. I don’t know why, but starting a little fire in my driveway with their magnifying glass or with their flint and steel from Boy Scouts does not bother me.

Starting a fire with a lighter… makes me reverberate. It really really bugs me on some deep level and if y’all can do some psycho analysis and figure it out, please feel free.

Just lighters feel like… kids setting neighborhoods on fire. Magnifying glasses and flint and steel feel like… Boy Scouts and science.

I’m at a loss.

I don’t let them use the lighter, but the following episodes played out yesterday, which makes me wonder if my eldest boy’s brain is actually functioning.

He had a buddy over and there is this little sand pit in front of our home that they like to start their small fires. It’s a ring of shrubs with 4 feet of sand in diameter in the middle, with an 8 inch deep hole in the center of it, probably 8 inches wide by 8 deep, and it’s near the street.

The good news is… it meets all my requirements. The bad news is… it’s right on the street so the neighbors have an up front view of the pyromaniacs I’m raising.

I hear this in my head, “Jeanette! Get out here! Look what Boudicca’s boys are doing now! They’re out there building fires! They’re ALL going to end up in jail. Mark my words!”

Bones came up to me and said “Mom, Please let us use the lighter.”

Me: No. No lighter.

Bones: Can we use lighter fluid?

Me: *blink*

Holy crap. I came out of my damn skin. We’ve moved past magnifying glasses and grass to lighters and accelerants?

I freaked. I sat everyone down. I talked about fire, accelerants, things that can get out of control even when you don’t want it to, I laid it all out there and then ended it with ‘perception’, how they were going to be perceived by others in the neighborhood, constantly out in the front yard with their little fires.

(Sidenote: They are tiny little fires in sand, but they like to make big smoke.)

My nerves are shot.

Last night at 10:30 my eldest said, “Mom, we want to go outside and light our little fire.”


He actually looked at me like… he didn’t get what my problem was.

Fifteen minutes later I saw him and his buddy rummaging through the cabinets. I said, “What are you doing?”

He looked at me sheepishly and said, “Do we have any cocoa?”

I looked down and he had my fudge frosting recipe, the one I make for my Mom’s angel food cake for her birthday every year.

I replied, “Yes, and what are you doing?”

He informed me, that at 10:45 AT NIGHT, they were going to make a big batch of fudge frosting and EAT IT.

I was astounded. I said, “NO!”

His reply? “OK, so let’s say we don’t eat it with spoons, but we eat it with bananas instead?”


I guess neither of them had any illusions of sleeping, being hopped up on that much sugar.

Holy crap.

I’m telling you… there are days I pray to make it through their teenage years. Between the eating and the fires…

… and this is just the beginning.

Posted by Boudicca at 11:10 PM | Comments (18) | TrackBack

January 03, 2009

Conversations with a Pregnant Morrigan

I was speaking to my best friend from high school the other day, PFB. I hate it that she labeled herself that on my blog, I need to give her a better name. (PFB stands for Pudding for Brains.) She’s a wonderful photographer; she can bring the soul of a person out of a picture.

Anyway, she has one son, who you may recall, I blog upon occasionally, Mr. Smoochy Pants. And this is pretty much a conversation we had last week on the phone… to the best of my recollection.

PFB: How is Morrigan?

Me: She looks GREAT.

PFB: How’s she feeling?

Me: She pulled some cartilage or something in her rib cage during a coughing attack when she was sick, so she hurts.

PFB: Oh that’s horrible!

Me: Yeah, and… she said she doesn’t think she can get any bigger than she is.

(Sidenote: Mo has 5 weeks left in her pregnancy.)

PFB: BWahhahahahahahaha!

Me: I know.

PFB: Bwhahahahahaha!

Me: Can you believe it?

PFB: Bwhahahahaha! Did you laugh at her?

Me: Yeah, I mean, how could I not? She also said she thinks she’s going to deliver early.

PFB: Bwhahahahahaha! Holy crap…

Me: I smiled and said, “All pregnant women KNOW they are going to go early, around this stage. Nobody really does…”

I keep laughing about it, because Morrigan is a damn riot.

She actually said to me yesterday, “I can’t get ANY bigger without stretch marks!”


I said, “I think… you’re starting to understand the process…”

We had a big discussion as to whether she currently has them or not. She swears she doesn’t. I swear she just can’t see them.

When you’re big pregnant… you lose total sight as to the lower end of your body, from top of the belly to knees.

This is where when you go to the doctor and they give you this really small cup to pee in, that you look at them with a blank face as if saying, “Are you frickin’ serious?” and when the nurse smiles sweetly back, thrusting said cup upon you, you say to her, “Can I have a ladle?”

I don’t remember any of my marks being obvious until my body was no longer full of child.

But I will tell you, without a doubt, I am so full of stretch marks now, my body looks like an old crumpled up paper bag. It’s like someone wadded up my skin and threw it back on my body.

No way in hell would you catch me in a bikini.

And my navel? Right. My entire stomach looks like it has the Raisin Bran smiling sun radiating with the navel as the center… stretch marks providing the sun rays.

I’m so sexy sometimes I scare myself…

Posted by Boudicca at 09:12 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack

The Taped Grape

We got our singlets today…these would be our race shirts.

I will be honest, there is not a piece of clothing that I own that could look WORSE on me than this purple singlet. Every single lump, bump, and crease is visible through the fabric.

Why they couldn’t make it out of the same daggum fabric that they made my Hot Chillys out of, I will never understand. I wear those and look lean and fit and… well, lean and fit.

I wear the purple singlet and I look like a lumpy grape.

I’m turning it in on Monday for a size larger. Even my husband said, “Hmmm. You need to go up a size if they’ll let you.”

Trust me, I did not order the Petite Flower size. NO. Obviously these really run small… or… well… I’m not going there.

And more than anything, it is readily apparent, that all those runners you see on all the TNT pages, smiling, looking beautiful and fit?

I will not look like that. Do those folks not sweat? Maybe they were taken before the race. Even then… I’ll not look like that.

Not by any stretch. I’ll look like the lumpy grape with a taped up leg, completely in my head, getting in the zone… Embracing the Anxiety.

Posted by Boudicca at 09:09 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

Some Things Come Out As They Should

Some quick thoughts on College ball…

If Alabama truly thought that Utah was unworthy of them… then Thank GOD that Utah beat them. Crap like that pisses me off. The arrogance…

And you know I was absolutely laughing my a$$ off when Ole Miss beat Texas Tech.

This last month all we heard was “Wah! Wah! Wah! Florida doesn’t deserve to go to the BCS because they got beat by Ole Miss and Ole Miss sucks. Wah! Wah! Wah!”


Do the frickin’ math now… WHO did Ole Miss beat?


(Now lets hope the Gators actually SHOW UP, unlike ‘Bama in the entire first frickin’ half as they played ‘unworthy’ Utah, and Georgia Tech… who just never showed up… at all.)

Posted by Boudicca at 09:05 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

January 02, 2009

Its a Disease, but I Don't Have it THAT Bad

Right before I went away for Christmas, I went to my doctor's office. The office had quite a few female athletes in it. I mean real athletes, not people like me pretending.

Things looked... not good, for me.

He told me to take the next 10 days and NO training. None. No impact.

I think I twitched.

And the following conversation occured to the best of my recollection:

Dr: You can do the elliptical machine at the gym. NO impact. No running, no walking NO impact. The elliptical will help keep things stretched.

Me: Um. OK.

Dr: You understand.

Me, deep breath: Incline?

Dr: NO. Flat. No incline.

Me: Fast? Can I do intervals? Fast? And flat?

Dr: Slow and easy, 30 minutes. FLAT. SLOW.

Me: Ok. I had to ask. I have boundary issues. If you tell me I can do the elliptical, I'm going to have it on full incline doing 8 minute miles, interval training. Everything I do physically is harder, faster, more. So if you tell me I can do the elliptical, I need to know how fast, how hard, and what the limitations are.

Dr.: There are a lot of you in here today.

Me: Really?

Dr: Yeah, that young girl you were talking to? She's training to make the Boston. She did 16 miles on Saturday and has been having Sciatica pain. She did the whole thing with a numb leg.

Me: *blink*

Yeah, you all think *I* am insane? I'm the frickin' epitome of non-driven slug compared to that girl.

Holy crap.

Posted by Boudicca at 10:41 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

Beyond Embracing the Suck

So much going on today.

I got my bib number. This would be the number for my race. I’m number… 16118.

Good Lord, there is going to be such a crowd. I hear when you run, it’s like running out of a stadium full of people, the big throngs of people, lined up, all running and it’s like that for mile after mile after mile.

I printed out the race course for my family… so they can see where I run, the mile markers, starting at Epcot, winding through Magic Kingdom, down the highway to Animal Kingdom, then ending at MGM.

I said to my eldest, ‘You know this drive… I’m going to be walking and running it.’ His eyes got wide… it gave him the perspective of HOW FAR 26.2 miles is.

I went to the doctor today. If he did not think I was a crazy mad woman, he does now.

I had some sort of attack in his office today. Anxiety? Perhaps. It’s been 10 days since I’ve run.

I’m a mess.

A mental mess.

I keep thinking, “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned… it has been 10 days since my last run.”

Its like a religion… it soothes my soul. The interval training.

The ‘attack’ was spurred by the chronic pain, the constant worry about this tendon and the fact I’ve… not trained in 10 days.

He said that the tendon won’t rupture, that I can do this, and that I need to embrace the anxiety.

That was the quote. “Embrace the Anxiety”.

So that’s my new saying. “Embrace the Anxiety”. He said this is normal, this fear.

Meanwhile, I’m NOT healed. I needed the 10 days off, he’s happy with the progress but I’m taped, AGAIN, had laser therapy and will have TWO MORE sessions before race day.


I train tomorrow with my team… the last training. No running allowed, but I’m allowed to walk really fast, and for those not in the know, a buddy of mine said I walk faster than some people run the last 1/3 of a marathon.

I walk FAST.

I get my singlet tomorrow, the shirt I’ll wear to do the marathon. Something so simple has me excited.

Evidently… during race day if you want to track me, you can. I’m getting more information on it and will post it here if it’s all possible. It can send you email or tell you on your phone where I am on the course.

High tech.

Will it tell you if I drop dead? Will it tell you if someone has to cart my crippled body off the course?

Of course not! Because… its NOT GOING TO HAPPEN!


Because I’m officially… EMBRACING THE ANXIETY.


Posted by Boudicca at 10:18 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

January 01, 2009

Who Knew?

We had my husband’s family over for dinner tonight and I decided we were going to celebrate my sister in law’s birthday. I had been planning it for awhile, making her favorite cake, buying assorted little gifts all year.

She’s extraordinarily organized and neat.

I’m chaotic and… what you see is what you get. By the end of the day, I always look a bit disheveled. My organization skills outside of my head would rival the Absent Minded Professor’s.

I’m queen of lists just to keep me up with all my multi tasking and so I don’t forget something. That’s the extent of organization in my life.

Meanwhile, my sister in law is a high rolling corporate business woman… vice president type level… for a major department store. She’s very well respected, walks in and LOOKS like the chairman of the board. Hair is always perfect, outfits match, everything in a day planner. (Sidenote: She is tremendously giving and caring. She's not nasty at all.)

She shows up to Sunday dinner at my house and I’m in shorts, a tshirt, hair in a pony tail, no shoes.

Odd the things we find out by accident… after 20 years.

I pulled out a basket where we keep our birthday candles and rummaged through them to find some for her cake. She walked in and said, “OH! I like this! Your basket and how organized it is!”

I laughed and said, “Umm… you don’t think *I* did this do you? I’m the absent minded professor…”

My husband walked in and said, “It was me.”

She laughed and said, “It had to be you. You and me… we’re peas in a pod.”

None of this bothers me because it’s absolutely frickin’ true. It doesn’t bug me that everything’s not perfect, that gravy overflowed into the saucer, that there is sauce on the outside of the dish, that I have hair that has fallen out of my pony tail and is hanging over one eye…

It just doesn’t… I am who I am… and they all know it and all accept me. Everyone has a great time at my home… we laugh, the food is good, people leave happy… and that’s my goal. Leave my home happy and well fed.

And so as they bantered, I laughed, because it REALLY was funny.

And then she stopped and said so seriously, “I love you for you. You are my rocket scientist. You could send people to the moon.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I stood there with the candles in my hand when she took me by the arm and said, “I’m serious. That expression we use, “Its not rocket science”, I laugh at work and say, “yeah, well, my sister in law is a rocket scientist!” You could send someone to the moon… I sell frickin’ lipstick.”

And it is 8:45 tonight and I’m still mulling that scene over in my head. We never talk about what I do for a living. It’s not my life anymore… my family is.

I guess… I am just surprised… someone I have known for so long noticed me… for me.

After 20 years… realizing, someone noticed and had noticed a long time ago… me for me.

And it’s kind of had a profound effect on me tonight.


Posted by Boudicca at 08:51 PM | Comments (14) | TrackBack

Random Manic Thoughts for the New Year

(If you really want it to sound like it was in my head, read it really really really fast...)

Did Georgia Tech even bother to show up for that game the other night? Hello?

One week until THE game day.

I need to update my About Me page. It is over 4 years old. I need to change the frickin' commenting system on this blog too. All this will happen in the next 30 days.

Morrigan and Flam are in denial. They think they don’t know what they’re having, but *I* know they are having a boy. That 4D picture just looked too much like a boy. (We now call the baby, Clay Baby because of that ‘clay’ look in the ultrasound.) That baby has Flam’s ears!

You know how some ears connect and some ear lobes don’t. Well my family has the non connecting kind and Flam has the connecting kind and so does the baby.

I figured all appendages match… it’s a boy. No need to even pick out a girl name.

And… when I call the baby the Great Flambino, it is actually said in a circus announcer voice, “The GREAT FlammmmBiiiinoooooooo!” Just so you know.

Ten days until race day.

I need an endorphin rush in a bad way. I think I have the DTs. Can you get the DTs from lack of endorphins? It’s been 10 days since I have been allowed to run or walk and there is BIG stress in this house, now that we are back in town, and I can feel myself starting to twitch.

I need to run.

I see my doctor tomorrow… he needs to give me the two thumbs up. Today is beautiful weather and as I laced up my running shoes as I headed out to the store, I felt the cool breeze on my face, the fresh air of the new year, and the anxiety bubbling to the surface… I need to run.

Did I say that my sister in law is pregnant too? Due in May. I’ll be an aunt twice over this year. It should be a happy year. She’s having a boy… as I said, Mo and Flam are too, they are just in denial. Heh.

I love babies.

I was reading in the newspaper that some hospitals have volunteers they call ‘cuddlers’. They take training and then hold sick babies in the hospitals. I need to jettison some of the crap in my life so I can be a cuddler.

I think it’s my calling. I should be holding babies all the time. I don’t care if they cry. They can cry all day long and I’ll just rock them. The hard part would be not kissing them, as I’m sure that’s not allowed…

I’m obsessing about not having run in 10 days. It’s a problem. I keep looking out the window at the road…

My husband’s family is coming to dinner tonight so we can celebrate my sister in law’s birthday. I let Bones help pick out her card. He kept trying to pick out a card that had ‘noise’ from some show called, The Office. (File this under, “Bou needs to climb out from under the rock and understand everyone else in America is doing…”) I told him that I’d never seen the show, didn’t know if she watched it, so we stuck with some other noisy card that belts out, “I’m So Excited!!!”

Meanwhile, he picked out her balloon as well. It’s HUGE and is of a big shooting star. He strutted through Publix carrying it… and had too many people wish him a Happy Birthday.

Do you ever wish you could turn back the clock as far back as 25 years ago and undo things or say things that should have been said or redo things? But if that were the case, we’d not be where we are now, that would change the future… so its best things stay where they are, but it’s always a niggling thought. What if?

The big school carnival is coming. I forgot about it today until it hit me. That spiked the anxiety right there… I’m not ready. Bonus for me, I really really have come to adore the Deputy assigned to me and to us. The AK ‘whatever’ assault rifle kind of threw me last year, but I’m already kind of used to that thought… nothing makes you feel safer than being in a room with a Sheriff’s Deputy sitting facing the door with a loaded assault rifle on his lap.

Well… not being in the actual room or having to deal with any of it, makes one feel MUCH safer, but that not being the option, I’ll take my Deputy… with the assault rifle.

Ten days until my race.

I said that already. I’m obsessing. I really need to be healed. For real healed. I’m asking for drugs tomorrow… I’ve never done that as I’m all into that holistic “I can do this without drugs” mentality, but the fact remains… I can’t. I’m asking for drugs, cortisone, something.

He needs to make this go away and I don’t care how bad it hurts. I did natural childbirth. I can do whatever he throws at me. I have a high tolerance to pain.

According to the weather, it is going to be warmer now… 44 degrees with a high of 62. I can do that… When it dips below 40 I start to freak.

Ten more days…

Happy New Year! Right… I’m grasping onto that thought…

Posted by Boudicca at 08:49 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack