Legislating Morality

So, I'm really starting to think that there is no rhyme or reason to the way that public policies are set in this country. Did you folks know that you can only purchase a limited quantity of certain cold medicines at a time and that you must request them from behind the counter? Actually, I'm sure that all of you already knew about this. I'm slow like that. Anyway, my buddy, Meg, recently told me about this and I was just floored. Seriously, she couldn't buy two different sets of cold meds because there was the possibility that she might run home to make methamphetamines.

Um, what? How can anyone possibly think that they're preventing anyone from making meth by limiting the number of cold meds that are purchased? I would have loved to have been in the room to hear the discourse on the formation of this policy. I'm quite certain that no one in that room thought that this would actually prevent meth from being manufactured; however, it does provide the public with the illusion that something is being done about the problem. Nice.

In the meantime, I can go to the liquor store, purchase unlimited quantites of alcohol (which I don't even need to mix with anything to make it lethal) and do whatever the heck I feel like. Kill myself with alcohol poisoning. Drive my car through a crowded market. Give it to underaged kids. You get the point.

I am by no means advocating for increased regulation of alcohol. I'm just saying that it makes no sense to hide cold medicine behind the counter in an attempt to deter anyone's behavior. I have no idea when the government decided that it was their job to legislate morality...and then to do a piss poor job of it! Unreal.

Ok, rant over. Carry on.

Is This Love?

So, I normally hate commercials. I despise the idea of someone trying to sell me something that I haven't gone out of my way to look for. With that said, once every three years or so, I come across a commercial that I identify with so closely, I almost forget that they're trying to sell me something.

This New Balance commercial is one of those. (In fact, I've since found out that the entire series of Love/Hate commericals rock. Click on the hyperlinks throughout this post to see more of them.)


I saw this commerical for the first time this week as I was sitting on the couch rolling my foot on a soup can for the second straight hour trying to get over this latest injury. It came on just as I was wondering why I was continuing with this running journey when it seems like there are so many roadblocks cropping up left and right. I mean, is all of this really worth it? What is running giving me that swimming and cycling aren't? As the doubts and second guesses roll through my head, I wonder if running is punishing me for picking swimming back up so early in our relationship.

After the commercial was over, I sat staring at the TV as I had two thoughts simultaneously. The first was, "Thank God I'm not the only person who thinks of sports as living entities that I'm involved with." And the second was, "Holy crap, I've fallen for running!" I was so busy rediscovering my relationship with swimming that I didn't even realize it was happening. I mean, I knew that I had been looking longingly at new running paths during my hiatus over the last week. And I also noticed the jealous stares that I was shooting at runners who were happily treading along without any foot pain whatsoever, but I didn't realize that it was this serious.

I have to say that I'm glad that I know now where I stand with running. I'm not sure that all of this pain would have been worth it for a fling, but since we're headed towards a long term relationship, I'm willing to work out the issues as they surface. Is running one of the hardest relationships I've ever had? Absolutely, but I'm willing to stick it out because you and I both know that my make-up run after my foot is better will be unforgettable!

Oh yeah and that picture at the top, that's a nearby path that I want to take running to after our break is over.

The Run Down

Well, it seems like I'm working my way through every type of injury on my way to the marathon. I had a really bad case of runner's knee back in March and April and while that's remedied, it appears that I'm now fighting the same thing that my brother had: plantar fasciitis. Translation? My heel and the arch of my foot hurt like hell. Nice, huh?

The good news is that, while my foot heals with ice and anti-inflammatory treatments, it's recommended that I cross-train with swimming and cycling. Lucky for me, I already do both of those activities, so I shouldn't lose too much conditioning while I'm getting over my foot pain. I'm going to consider this the calm before the storm since, at 6 months away, my training is about to get much more aggressive as I start working long runs into my routine.

Swimming is going great. When I first got back into the pool about a month ago, I could really only go about 10 laps at a time before my arms were on fire and my lungs were burning for air. In 4 short weeks, I now start my workout with 40 laps (1,000 yards) and can easily complete them without so much as a stitch in my side. I can't possibly begin to tell you how good that feels.

With the Olympics on the horizon, I've been thinking a lot about swimming lately. I watched the swimming trials last week and was on the edge of my seat the entire time. As the swimmers approached the blocks, I was mentally putting myself through the paces of how they were feeling and what they were thinking. As they dove into the water, I was screaming "kick, kick, kick!" inside of my head and when they made the last turn and were headed for the finish, I could feel the fatigue in their muscles as if it were my own. Incidentally, I have the same type of out of body experience when I watch any woman giving birth. I can't help but hold my breath when she pushes and get tears in my eyes when that little baby is put on her chest.

Anyway, back to sports. There's something so appealing about watching athletes at the top of their game. Knowing that the blood, sweat and tears are behind them and all that's left now is the fight and the glory. For me, that level of dedication is probably one of the most attractive things in the world so you better believe that I will be tuned in to watch every second of the Olympics this summer. Forget Big Brother, this is the only reality TV that I'm into.

In Your Eyes

It's so rare that I get a picture of my little guy with a serious expression. Typically, the second that the camera is on him, he starts mugging for it, but on this particular morning, I happened to have my camera in the front seat and I caught him deep in thought at a red light on the way to school.

I love his face. I know that all mothers feel this way about their children, but seriously, there is no other face on this earth that sucks me in the way that his does. Just looking at him makes my heart feel so full and sometimes, I have no idea what to do with all of this excess love.

As I look at this picture, my eyes wander over his face and take in the slight reddish tint of his hair, the perfect bow shape of his lips and the way that his ears are exactly like my father's. But when my gaze settles, I can't help but stare at his eyes. They're like two liquid pools with thick black lashes that I get completely lost in. The most amazing thing about this is that I've been staring at these exact eyes in the mirror for 29 years.

Back in grade school, I used to hate my eyes. It always seemed like they took up my whole face and everyone was always talking about them, which is so not a good thing to a 10 year old. I remember that I disliked their shape and the fact that they were a boring brown instead of the glorious light green that both my brother and mother had. I used to guilt trip my poor mom by saying, "why couldn't you have given your eyes to me instead of Dean" and I now know without a doubt that if she could have taken them out of her head and put them in mine, she would have done so without hesitation just to make me feel better about it.

Looking at my son's eyes, at my eyes in his perfect little face, I shake my head in disbelief. How could I have ever wanted to be anything other than exactly as I was? Who knew that seeing yourself in your child would be so therapeutic. When we're out and about and a stranger says, "Your son has your eyes. They gorgeous," I take it as the biggest compliment in the world and as an afterthought, send my 10 year old self a virtual hug. If I could have spoken to her, I would have said the same thing that my mom said to me, which is the same thing that I'll say to Parker if he's ever hard on himself and it's this: Chin up kid, you're perfect just the way you are.

Independence Day

I always think of today as America's symbolic 18th Bithday. It's our coming of age when we gave the finger to England and pretty much said that, while we really appreciate the help you gave us in the beginning, we've got our big boy pants on now and we don't need you anymore.

I consider myself a patriotic person, but not in the traditional sense. In my worldview, having patriotism does not mean spouting off that America is the best country in the world. For me, being patriotic means exercising your civil rights. Our extensive freedom of speech, expression and dissention is what makes this country what it is.

When I was in high school, I never stood for the pledge of allegiance. Kids in my class thought that I was just being difficult (which I typically was), but to me, the fact that I could exercise my right to stay in my seat said more about this country than standing up and shouting my support.

When we would have debates in class, I would never condemn those who spouted off what I considered ignorant drivel, because it was their right to do so. When one of my friends questioned me about my silence (I was known for being opinionated), I explained that in order for me to have the right to speak as I chose to, I had to be tolerant of others whose thoughts I found offensive.

I have a sticker on my front door that says "Protected By The Fourth Amendment," which is our freedom from unlawful searches and seizures. My friends always get a kick out of this since I just spent 4 years working in a law enforcement agency. I have a deep seated respect for law enforcement officers, but that doesn't mean that I want them unlawfully searching my house. Do I have anything to hide? No, but that's not the point.

Here's the thing folks, we have rights. Lots of them. What kind of citizen would I be if I let any of them go to waste? I'm always afraid that rights are a use 'em or lose 'em type of enterprise and in the current climate in this country, civil rights are always at risk. It is very easy to have rights taken away (i.e. Patriot Act), but it is far more difficult to get them back. So today, on America's birthday, let's have a toast celebrating the fact that we can say "Screw You!" to our government and get away with it. Cheers! Now if I could only find those American Flag high-top Converse that I had in 9th grade...

Pardon Me, May I Sit On You?

It's interesting to watch the interplay between a 19-month-old child and a small menagerie of animals. When Parker is in the room, the dogs and one of our cats make a hasty exit to safer areas. Payton, however, does not. I'm not sure if it's feline bravery or just a twisted case of "negative attention is still attention," but even when Parker is barreling towards Payton at full speed, he holds his ground.

I remember the first time Parker lifted Payton by his tail. Payton just stood there, back paws lifted 3 inches off of the ground, looking lazily around the room. Strangely, even after I moved him to the safety of the kitchen, he was back in the living room less than one minute later. As a result, Parker spends a great deal of time hanging out with him.

I'm not sure what the fascination is, but Parker has a particular fondness for sitting on Payton. Yes, you read that correctly. The funny thing is, Parker is very polite about it. Just watch the following exchange.

"Pardon me sir. I can't help by notice that you look amazingly soft. Would you mind if I sat on you?"









And here he is on another day.





Typically, he'll sit there for 10 seconds or so, give Payton a squeeze and then go about his business. This happens probably three times a week. I just file it under the strange and unusual things that happen in the house and go about my business.

Mrs. Brightside

One of the cool things about reproducing is that you can't help but take a slow walk down the memory lane of your own childhood. I've spent a lot of time over the last couple of years thinking about who I am as a person and figuring out how I got here because for me, the hardest part of parenting is deciding which values and beliefs you want ingrained in your children.

As I've cultivated various relationship over the last decade, I've come to realize that I really lucked out in the parent department. I mean, I have great parents. Don't get me wrong, we didn't always get along and we both made mistakes, but at the end of the day, I always felt loved, supported and safe. There were a lot of lessons that were imparted to me over the years. There was an undercurrent of "regardless of the problem, everything is going to be ok" and a lot of "you can do anything you put your mind to" mixed in with it, but there's one lesson in particular that affects me every single day of my life and it's this: "It could always be worse, so suck it up."

Let me begin by saying that my mom never put it quite that way, but that's the way my brain translated the thousand different exchanges with this underlying theme. My mom had a standard answer for most complaints. If I would complain about having to do homework, she would respond with, "Cyn, there are children starving in Africa who would love the chance to get an education." Translation? It could be worse, suck it up kid. I'm sure at the time, I rolled my eyes and felt sorry for myself, but somewhere deep down inside, I could acknowledge that yes, I was pretty lucky to be where I was.

I know that this particular lesson was supplemented by all of the traveling that we did as kids. When you travel to other countries, it becomes so clear how good we have it here. The Greece that I know and love is not the Greece that you see on the Travel Channel. Certainly, we've been to those places, but we've also been to small poverty stricken villages where people are barely scraping by. To those kids, we were like celebrities. They wanted to know everything about us and our experiences in a world that they would never see that seemed light years away from their own existence. It was a really humbling experience.

The Irishman has experienced culture shock on a number of different levels over the years, but I'll never forget the time that we went grocery shopping after having just returned from a month-long stay on the island. He was standing in the frozen food isle of Publix just staring at his choices. When I asked him what was wrong, he looked over at me in disbelief and said, "we have so many choices here!" Yup, in most supermarkets in Greece (which are about the size of an American gas station) your choices for frozen pizza are a single brand that comes in plain cheese or pepperoni. I know this is such a small thing in and of itself, but it's so indicative of the differences between America and most other countries.

The funny thing about life lessons is that, at some point, you take ownership of them. As I was navigating through college, I found myself hearing my mom's voice in my head in response to various situations that came up and then, strangely, it became my own voice that I heard.

My favorite thing about this particular lesson is that it's so true. For the vast majority of us, we have relatively few problems. We have indoor plumbing and an abundant food supply; available health care and some source of income. With these basic needs met, how can I not be elated that right here, in this moment, life is good. When you add in the fact that my son is healthy, I'm batting 1000.

I guess what I'm saying here is that it's all about perspective. There are so many people in this world going without or dealing with real problems (life or death decisions) that I wake up every morning so damn thankful that I'm here to enjoy another day. When people ask the question of whether my glass is half empty or half full, I respond by saying that I'm just glad that I have a glass at all.