Shine Bright, Like a Diamond.

I know, I know...  I can't believe that I just used Rihanna lyrics as the title to this post.  It's just that that is the song that Juliana's jazz class danced to for their final recital this year.

And it's what Juliana does.  She shines bright.  She barely has to try and my girl shines.

Earlier in May, another season of dance wrapped up and it was bittersweet for her.  Regaining two nights a week signals the beginning of our family's less hectic season.  But it also means an unwelcomed break from dance friends.  This is the year that the girls really started to bond - they all go to different schools but they came together twice a week to share their love of dance.  There is no girl in those classes that doesn't want to be there to challenge themselves, to laugh, and to create.  I assumed that the waiting around all day on recital Saturday performing dances in all three shows would be tedious - they'd be bored and, by the end of it, we'd pay with a big emotional meltdown.  Watching these beautiful girls hanging out together, waiting for their chance on stage, I realized I was wrong.

There were tears at the end of the day but they weren't tears of boredom or frustration.  They were tears because it was all done.  The routine of Amanda coming home from school with Juliana on dance nights was over.  Sharing their passion for dance every Wednesday and Thursday night was over.  To them, it just seemed so final.

But there is always a silver lining.  And Juliana's silver lining is made of choreographing dances for her school friends, cartwheels & handstands on the lawn, after school Thursdays with Amanda just-because, and, in the fall, a return to the dance studio to do it all again.

Three.

I celebrated one year here and two years here.  But I wish that I had started blogging sooner.

I love telling the stories (and there are many of them!) of what goes on behind the scenes in our home, but as the kids get older and more prone to embarrassment, these stories get harder to share.  They are just a little too personal.

That said, starting this blog three years ago was one of my good decisions.  It has held me accountable to sharing the tales that bind our family together.  And down the road, I hope that my kids will be able to enjoy my rendition of our family's history.  To be reminded that no matter how many times they thought I was being crabby, unfair, embarrassing, or just the meanest-mother-ever, I never stopped being ridiculously proud of them and ever so grateful for the joy that they brought to my world.

One day they will look back and realize that this blog is actually my love letter to them.

xo

Time flies.

Wowza!

Where did May go?

I've got a few posts written about the highlights of our busy, busy month, but I haven't had a chance to sit down, collect the photos, and hit publish.

They are coming though.  Starting tomorrow?

Running.

Before you read this post, I need to tell you a few things.

I need to tell you that I don't like to run.  And I don't like to talk about running.  It puts too much pressure on me to keep it up, or to run more often, or to run farther, or to...whatever.  It just puts too much pressure on me.  I run because I should, I run because I need to get in shape for soccer season, I run because I think that one day one of my kids might run with me, I run because every once in awhile I experience that running euphoria which makes me come back hoping to experience it again, and I run because Sheldon makes awesome playlists.  After today, I will go back to not talking about running anymore.

I need to tell you that it isn't easy making a funny man really laugh.  Peter laughs at many things that I do or say but one of the things makes me happiest is when I can make him belly laugh.  That laugh that erupts right from the gut, makes him hit his leg and wipe his eyes.  This story had him doing all of those things and he insisted that I document it.  I will, if only for the memory of him sitting on the back deck enjoying my tale.

I need to tell you that it is exhausting to live inside my head.

*   *   *

Last Sunday morning it was obvious that spring had finally arrived.  

With every spring comes soccer season, and with every soccer season comes one month that I have to get back into shape.  There was no better time than this to take my lazy winter's butt out for a run.  It was only my second time out but I decided to take the back roads where I was in for 5k whether I walked or ran, but there was no opportunity to bail out as there would be if I were to take a neighbourhood route.  It seemed like a good plan.

I laced up my shoes, grabbed my tunes, and headed out.

I began with a brisk walk to warm up a little.

At 2 minutes I started my jog.  My pace was good - faster than walking but only barely, considering that I needed to conserve my energy.

At 2 1/2 minutes I was out of breath but that was okay.  The first bit is always the hardest, the most painful, I told myself.  Just focus on the music and on keeping this slow but steady pace.

At 3 minutes I was gasping.  I felt like I couldn't take a full breath in.  Screw the music, all I could think about was breathing.  I kept trying to take a deeper breath in but it wasn't working.

At 3 1/2 minutes the struggling was worse.  Something was seriously wrong.  I couldn't get air.  My lung capacity was diminished.  And what about my heart?  Now it was having to work harder to compensate.  I should stop.  

At 4 minutes I started to walk hoping that a small break would give me a chance to catch my breath.  Should I turn back?  No.  I see someone up ahead and they are running toward me.  I'll keep going and if I drop, at least they will see me and will call for help.

At 5 minutes I've caught my breath but I'll walk another minute and then run again.  That's what the Running Room says to do.  Run two, walk two.  Plus I've got my safety net coming toward me.

At 5 1/2 minutes I realize that my fellow runner isn't moving.  Crap.  It's a mailbox.  Holy, holy crap.  I'm hallucinating.  I need oxygen.  I'm in the middle of nowhere and Peter isn't even at home to come and get me.  He's at church with Juliana.  They're praying for me, I hope.

At 6 minutes my breath has returned, I start to run again, my head is clearing, and I realize that I might just be okay. 

By this time, I'm back to finding my pace, my Nike run app has just told me that I'm halfway to achieving the distance of my last run, and I'm feeling good.  I realize that I've gotten through the pain of the first couple of minutes, just as I knew I could, and I settle in, listening to the sounds of I Wanna Be Sedated in my ears.  See?  Sheldon picks awesome (and timely) music for me.

An hour later, I'm back, sitting with Peter and he asks me how it went.

The rest, as they say, is history.