Art Show

Yesterday, we went to Parker's first art show at his school. Art is a huge part of the program there (Parker's head teacher has a Masters degree in Art Education) and the kids are allowed to choose their own colors and painting style. One of the things that we love about this particular school is that individuality and creativity are strongly encouraged and in a world of cookie-cutter people, that is so important! I have to say that for us parents, it's really cool to see what the little guy's been up to while he's away from us. So, I'd like to take you on a little photographic journey of Art Show Day at Parker's school.

The staff had set up the entire outdoor area with huge displays of the children's art.





Here's Parker posing with art from his toddler class.



Parker's class tie-dyed T-shirts. His is right in the middle.



Finally, here are some art projects that Parker has completed over the last month.







Now if that isn't talent, I don't know what is.

Comfort Zones

At a recent meeting of the Marathon Club (ok, so it was really just an email exchange), I made the observation that a lot of people who know me make some variation of this comment when they find out that I'm running: "Why do you want to run a marathon when you're already good at swimming?" I've been thinking about this a lot recently (particularly since pansy ass is saying the same thing inside of my head) and I don't think their question is really about swimming vs. running. I think the question is really this: "Why do you want to step outside of your comfort zone?" So, this is the question that I answer with a question of my own: "Why should we always stick to what we know or what we're good at when there's no financial risk involved?" In my opinion, self-discovery is a great thing and anything that challenges you to doubt yourself is a great opportunity to work on your weaknesses. So today, I thought that I would talk a little bit about comfort zones.

You see, we all have them. Humans are creatures of habit and we typically find ourselves doing the same old same old on a regular basis. I have one small problem with that...I hate the same old same old! I hate that feeling of being in a rut. I get antsy and before I know it, change is on the horizon. Whether it's my car or my hair color, I feel a compulsion to switch things up. I think this is related to my aversion of people "letting themselves go." One of my 5,000 personal mottos is that there's always room for improvement. It's mind boggling to me that there comes a point where people sit back and say, "well, this is as good as it's going to get." I actually heard someone say recently that, "it's all downhill after 30." Um, as someone who is staring 30 in the eyes within the next couple of months, I must say that this is total bull. People get lazy and they give up, but this has less to do with age than it does with a flaw in their personality. But, I digress.

Comfort zones serve a purpose for us. They give us the feeling that we're in control. They offer predictability and stability to our daily routine. Well, as the reigning President of Control Freaks of America, I can tell you that in reality, comfort zones are only giving us the illusion of control. They make us feel safe and secure when they're actually just dulling our senses.

Ask yourself, when's the last time you really did something outside of your comfort zone? I have to say that when I ask myself this, it's a loaded question because it's almost like a personal dare. As soon as I realize that I'm operating in my comfort zone, I have to challenge myself to step outside of that. I was always a sucker for dares as a kid. Remember when your mother would say, "well, if he told you to jump off a bridge, would you have?" Well, if it was a command, absolutely not, but if it was a double dare..um, yeah. So anyway, here are some of my comfort zone breakouts.

Running is the first obvious one for me. I literally feel like a fish out of water, particularly on the days that I do both a swimming and a running workout. Not too long ago, I would have been the first to tell you that I don't bother engaging in activities that I'm not good at (mainly because I'm such a sore loser), but since running is a solitary sport, I'm allowed to totally suck since I'm really only racing against myself.

Going out to eat by myself is another one. It wasn't the actual eating alone that I had an issue with, but more so the fact that I'm such an introvert and I hate talking to strangers. Well, going out to eat alone seemed like I would be wearing a "talk to me!" beacon on my forehead. I am proud to report that I go out to eat by myself at my favorite sushi place on a regular basis and the only people that bother speaking to me are my favorite sushi chef and my favorite waiter. Hmmm, I have a lot of favorites there.

The final one I can think of is going out in general. Any place that serves alcohol is a social gathering place by definition, but I'm proud to report that I've gone out for the last 5 week straight. I'm not sure if I feel more social as a result and granted, I do go out with friends that I'm comfortable with, but I still think it's a step in the right direction. Who knows, maybe one day I'll even go out by myself...but I'm not sure that I'm there yet.

Our New Tenants

So, I have a bad habit of leaving the garage door open during the day when I'm home. We have a quirky garage door opener that is as fickle as my cat, Luna. As a result, you sometimes have to manually close it from the main button in the garage and I've been really lax about doing that lately. Well, apparently leaving your garage door open means that you're open for new tenants.

I first discovered our new tenants when I opened the garage door one morning and a small finch flew out. Ok, I have no idea whether the bird is indeed a finch, but it looked finch-like to me and that's the first bird name that came to mind, so I'm going with it. I thought it was odd that a small bird got closed in our garage overnight, but I guess it happens so I didn't give it a second thought.

The next morning, the Irishman opened the garage door to find the finch trying to get into the garage. He noticed that the bird flew to this assortment of baskets that I have on a shelf in the garage.



When he pointed that out to me, I immediately noticed that the pine straw in the smallest basket was not part of the basket display and when he brought it down for closer inspection, it turned out to be a nest with real live bird eggs.



You know, it's funny how parenthood changes you. Over the next week or so, the Irishman and I diligently opened the garage door as soon as we woke up and didn't close it until just before bed. We became the landlord Godparents of these little unborn birds. When I let the dogs out in the morning, I would see little Finchy waiting for me on the fence to open the doors up so that she could go in and sit on her babies. Interestingly enough, we never discussed moving the nest because I for one could not imagine coming home to sit on my babies just to find them missing. (Ok, so I don't sit on Parker, but you catch my drift). I'm not sure it I'm quite ready to have a full blown nursery in my house again, but I'll be sure to let you know when the finch babies make their grand entrance into the world via the bird-loft in my garage.

My Favorite Place On Earth

Well, it's no secret that I love to travel. I'm one of those people that's just addicted to it. I love everything about traveling, including the journey to and from my destination. As a result, I have a lot of places that I really like and want to visit again, but there's only one place that has my heart: our Greek island. Ok, it's not really OUR island, but it certainly feels like it to me.

A little back story for you. For as long as I can remember, my summers were spent in Greece. I don't think that I spent a single summer in the U.S. until I was well into my teenage years. As a result, a large part of me feels like I grew up there. My aunt had a beachside condo that was in a gated community filled with kids my age. We're talking 20-30 kids who would spend all day swimming in the ocean and all night having parties and bonfires. My brother and I were usually the only Americans, but there was always the occassional Brit or South African thrown into the mix as well. Those summers are probably my best memories from childhood.

Although my parents bought our house on the island back in the mid-1980s, I didn't fully enjoy the house until I got to college where I had my fill of kids my age during the school year and I was really craving my solitiude. Our house was made for solitude and self-reflection. Set 3 kilometers up the side of the mountain, it's a pretty steep drive to get up to where we are. Here's a picture of the village:



Notice how all of the house are staggered so that every single one has an amazing view of sunsets like these:



The land that you see the sun setting behind is the mainland of Greece. I have to say that in the summers, I live for those sunsets. I absolutely refuse to leave the house before I get to see what beautiful sight I was granted that day. My father and the Irishman typically will take their beers down to the balcony and toast the sunset with "Mythos Time." Mythos is a Greek beer that my husband greatly approves of.



Island life really agrees with someone who likes alone time as much as I do. This is an average day of Cyndy island life: wake up, go running, eat, go to the beach, eat, take a nap, read a book, drink wine with the sunset, go out to eat. Now tell me, does it really get any better than that?

It isn't just that I'm doing all of my favorite things there that makes me love the place so much. It's that it seems like the planets are truly aligned and I'm constantly tapped into my inner peace. This is the only place in the world that the Irishman doesn't stand a chance against me in any game (typically, he's freakishly lucky and is incapable of losing at most things). I beat him regularly at gin rummy, backgammon and finally, darts. If you need further evidence that this house is my utopia, I'd like to bring your attention to a particular dart game where I needed to hit two bullseyes for the win (let me point out that I am a really poor dart player). Take a look at this picture and notice the two bullseyes right in the center. Yup, that was me.



If I ever want a change of scenery, I can just drive around the island (about 60 miles all the way around). There are amazing views like this one from every stretch of the road and each beach is different from the ones next to it so in reality, it could take you an entire summer to explore them all.



I'm pretty nostalgic at the moment because this is the first summer in 8 years that I'm not going to visit my island. It's kind of like being in a long distance relationship. My soul aches to go there and when I'm there, I soak up every single second of every day; however, leaving the island is always hard for me to do. When I'm sailing away from the island on a ferry boat like the one below, I take comfort in the fact that my house and my island will always be waiting for me with open arms when I return.

REAL Greek Salad

There is one major problem with most "Greek Salads" in this country...they have lettuce! Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with lettuce and I consume copious amounts of lettuce salads, but I don't care how much olive oil and feta you put on them, they cannot be called Greek Salads.

A real Greek salad is amazingly easy to make. These are the ingredients that you need: tomatoes, cucumber, onion, olive oil, vinegar, salt, pepper and oregano. Yup that's it! The other sanctioned ingredients in a Greek Salad are feta cheese and kalamata olives, so feel free to add those too if you have them.



First things first. Lets slice our cucumber. I prefer the seedless European cucumbers, but only because they are closer to the ones we eat in Greece than the conventional cucumbers.



No go ahead and throw your sliced cucumber directly into your bowl. If you're like me, you'll have to slice twice the amount that you actually need since you'll eat about half of that during this process. In fact, I sometimes don't even get around to making the actual salad. I just eat the cucumber and serve a tomato salad. I'm sweet that way.



Now we're going to cut our tomatoes into wedges. If I have tomatoes to spare, I'll usually snack on one like an apple and sprinkle a little bit of salt on every bite. It's no wonder that Greeks eat multiple lbs. of produce a day, I swear it's in our blood!



Add your beautiful tomato slices directly into your bowl so that they can start slow dancing with your cucumbers.



Ok, now let's slice up our onions. I usually use about a quarter medium-sized onion and I like it sliced not diced.



Add the onion into your bowl as well. Now, we're going to add the rest of the ingredients. Let's start with the olive oil. I generally eyeball it, but 3-4 tablespoons would probably be a good place to start.



Now we're going to add the vinegar and I usually add half of the amount of olive oil I used (so 4 tablespoons of olive oil would need 2 tablespoons of vinegar, etc...)



Finally, let's add a healthy pinch of salt, pepper and oregano. We mix it all together and we're done! If you want to throw in some feta and olives, feel free to do so. Unfortunately, I ate our feta and olives (you guessed it) by themselves and right out of the container, so they never made it to the salad. Listen, I never claimed to be perfect and I have a certain weakness for, well, a large number of things including fresh produce and salty Greek products. I'll have to look into whether a support group exists for people like me.



Now run off, be Greek Salad making machines and educate the masses!

Just Do It!

The other day, while I was lovingly styling my Nike hat for its close-up, I started thinking about brands and what their logos are meant to say about you or to you. Now, for the most part, I don't really have brand loyalty for too many things and if I do, it's because of the way that something fits or tastes and not because of what the purchase or consumption of that product is supposed to say about me. Well, the exception would be some of my more expensive purses, which are all about female status, but let's get back to my point.

I have to say though that something about Nike's logo completely speaks to me. So many people have so many excuses for why they aren't reaching their goals or pursuing their dreams. My response to them is this: "JUST DO IT!"

While some of us definitely go through life with fewer obstacles than others, at the end of the day, you are your own biggest roadblock. People use a variety of excuses to explain away their immobility. For some people, it's fear of failure. For others, it's fear of change. Of course, there's always the old standby - sheer laziness. To be honest with you, I don't have a single problem with any of those things, as long as you understand that they're of your own creation and you don't complain about being where you are.

And really, if you're completely fine with where you are in life I want to be the first to give you a big round of applause because being happy with where you are RIGHT NOW is what life is all about for me. However, if you aren't happy or if you know that your potential is not being fully realized, what's holding you back? Don't wait until the first of the year or until your life slows down or until you get a raise. Whatever it is you want out of life, "JUST DO IT!"

When I used to work at Blockbuster over a decade ago as a high school kid, there was a sign on the back of the employee break room that said, "Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react." I walked by that sign more times than I care to recall and I can remember exactly when the truth of that quote hit me - I was two steps out the door and it stopped me in my tracks. When the light bulb went on, my brain translated that slogan into this message:

Life happens. Good things and bad things will happen. The only thing you have control over is your own reaction. When life knocks you down, go home, lick your wounds for as long as you need to, but whatever you do, get back up and just do it.

Of course, the "it" in "just do it" is different for everyone. Whether it's getting a better job, losing those extra 30 lbs, traveling to another country, finishing a marathon or just forgiving yourself for your flaws, there is no better time than right now to get going. So take a deep breath, have an honest conversation with yourself about what's preventing you from getting there, and (you knew it was coming) "JUST DO IT!"

Father's Day

Seeing as how today is Father's Day, I thought I would do a tribute to the Irishman who is, without a doubt, one of the best dads that I've ever known. Since I'm not a fan of cards or flowery expressions of flattery and gratitude, I thought I would show all of you what I see every day, which is what an amazing dad my husband really is. Irishman, sorry for calling you out, but this ones for you.














Thanks for being the best - lots of love,
Cyn and the Clan

May I Have A Tooth-licker Please?

My husband, the Irishman, has been to Greece five times. Each and every summer, he’s thrust into the middle of my enthusiastic, but non-English speaking relatives and is a great sport about nodding his head and smiling to them en masse. He realized pretty early on that unless he picked up some basic Greek, he was going to have an endless series of smiley head-bobbing summers ahead of him.

So, the Irishman enlisted my father’s help in translating some of the phrases that he used most regularly. This is the order in which my dear husband learned Greek phrases:

One beer, please. Mia beera, parakalo.

Excuse me, where is the bathroom? Signome, pou eene ee toileta?

(He got nervous that someone might take him for a Greek-speaker, so he decided to learn the following phrase in the event that anyone actually spoke back to him.)

I’m deaf. Eeme koufos.

He used his three phrases religiously and started getting comfortable asking my father to translate other phrases on an as-needed basis. After dinner one night, the Irishman asked for the translation for the word toothpick. As an aside, my husband cannot go a single meal without a toothpick. This would explain the existence of the phrase, “may I have a toothpick” in the top ten Greek phrases he learned. There was recently an incident where he was worried that there might be a toothpick shortage in town because we went to dinner and then to an Irish pub and both establishments said they were out. His comment? “I guess we better stock up just in case.”

Back to the lesson - my father told him that the translation for toothpick was “othondoglyfeda.” When the Irishman commented on the lengthiness of the word, my father (as he’s prone to do) broke down the word for him. “You see”, my father said, “it’s actually a compound word. Othondo means tooth and glyfeda means licker.” My husband looked to me for confirmation (my father is known to be quite the jokester) and when he received it, he thought it was hilarious. In fact, he liked it so much that he adopted tooth-licker as the official term for toothpick in our house.

So there you have it folks. If you’re ever in Greece (or in my house) just remember to ask for a tooth-licker.

The Voices Inside My Head

With all of the working out I've been doing lately, I've gotten to know the voices inside my head pretty well. There are two dominant voices that carry on a regular conversation that begins the second that I push myself beyond what is comfortable. We'll call them "The Motivator" and "The Pansy Ass." Without fail, the Pansy Ass is the one that starts the conversation and it goes something like this:

Pansy Ass: "Ok, I'm seriously starting to get tired. Isn't this enough for today?"

Motivator: "If you want to get better, you need to push yourself. Now shut up and keep going."

Pansy Ass: "I know that, but yesterday was a pretty hard workout. Shouldn't we take it easy today?"

Motivator: "Yesterday was swimming, today is running and they use totally different muscles. Now stop your complaining and get it in gear!"

Pansy Ass: (Quiet for a couple of minutes). "Ok, I think we just passed 3 miles. That's more than most people can do and I think that I'm starting to get out of breath."

Motivator: "Stop being such a pansy ass! We've set a goal here and we're not going to stop until we meet it. Today's goal is 4.5 miles and I don't want to hear another word out of you until we get there!"

Pansy Ass: "I think our knee is starting to twinge. Do you feel our knee twinging??"

Motivator: "Our knee is fine. Stop making excuses and keep going. Seriously, just shut your pie hole and keep running! Every step that you run now is one step closer to being ready for the race. Do you want to be unprepared? Think of how good it's going to feel to finish that marathon. Focus on that and push through the discomfort. You can rest for the other 23 hours today, just pipe down and tough it out for just one more mile."

Pansy Ass: "Ok, but do you promise that we can stop at 4.5 miles?"

Motivator: "Yes."


This kicker about this conversation is that if I reach the preset goal, I always surpass it. I think it's because once I get there, the pressure's off and anything extra is icing on the cake. In the spirit of full disclosure, the Motivator doesn't always win. However, I hate that feeling of quiting before I meant to for no other reason than I was tired and I usually beat myself up for it for the rest of the day. For that reason alone, I typically will tough it out just to asuage myself of the guilt of quitting.

Fried Rice, Benihana Style

A little back story for you, the Irishman's family loves Benihana. For as long as I've know him (so 14 years now), his family has had a Christmas Eve tradition of eating dinner there (and at least 23 other times in a single year). When I finally asked what the Benihana obsession was about, his answer consisted of two words: fried rice.

So, being the perfectionist that I am, I set off to duplicate his favorite fried rice. (This is where I pause to commend myself on being the world's best wife. Ok, carrying on...) Following the Irishman's careful instructions (given in a Japanese accent), I started recreating this legendary fried rice. It took a couple of tries to get all of the elements correct, but I think I finally got it. I'm not sure that it's completely perfect, but in the words of my eloquent husband, "It's pretty damn good!"

Ok folks, here are our ingredients: Celery, Carrots, Onions, Garlic, Sushi Rice, Chicken Breasts, Butter and Soy Sauce. I want to bring your attention to my Nama Shoyu soy sauce. It's unpasturized soy sauce so it naturally has less sodium, but more importantly, it is the best tasting soy sauce in the world. Seriously, it's that good. I unabashedly bring my own bottle with me when I go to my favorite sushi restaurant and I have been to known pour some on my fingers and lick them. Did I just say that? Moving on then.



First, we're going to get our rice started. I did 2 cups of rice and 2 1/2 cups of water because the Irishman consumes ridiculous amounts of this rice every time I make it. While the rice is cooking, you have time to get everything else done.



Next, I season the chicken breast with salt and pepper and cook it in a little bit of olive oil until it's lightly golden. (Chef's tip: put the chicken breast in between two pieces of saran wrap and pound it with the bottom of your skillet until it's an even thickness. This prevents the chicken from being overcooked on the skinny end and it makes it easier to dice after it's cooked)



After I take the chicken out of the pan to let it rest, I add a little bit more olive oil to the pan along with the celery, onion and carrot. For 2 cups of rice, I used one good sized carrot, two stalks of celery and 1/2 of a large vidalia onion. (Of course, you can add whatever additional veggies you want at this point.)



I like to let the veggies cook on medium heat about 7-9 minutes until they're nice and soft. While they're cooking, I'm going to make my garlic butter. First, chop up 3 cloves of garlic:



Then, mix it into about 3 Tbs. of softened butter. (If you didn't happen to leave your butter out in preparation for this recipe, just pop it in the microwave for 10 seconds or so.)



Now, the veggies are still cooking, so I'm going to go ahead and dice up my chicken.



Ok, this is when everything starts coming together. Go ahead and add the rice and garlic butter in with the veggies (the rice should be done by now). Mix everything together and then flatten it all out and let if "fry" for about 5 minutes.



Now, just add in your chicken and as much soy sauce as you'd like and you're done! I'm not going to give you a set amount for this because, well, I obviously have a problem when it comes to over-consumption of this soy sauce.



On a final note, I left the room after we finished dinner (during which the Irishman ate more than half of the huge pan of rice) and when I returned to the kitchen, this is what I saw:



In other words, you must go make this recipe immediately. Thank you. Now, please excuse me while I go hide the remainder from my husband so that he has something to eat for lunch tomorrow.

The Best $10 I Ever Spent

Some days, I am absolutely overwhelmed when I walk into my closet (ok, most days). How did I accumulate so much stuff? I have my teaching wardrobe and my non-teaching wardrobe, my workout wardrobe and my collection of jeans. (If I was writing about the best $150 I ever spent, we would talk jeans, but we're starting small here.) About once a year, I randomly scour through all of my stuff and give 3/4 of it away. Purging is good. But there is one thing that I would never purge. My blue Nike hat.

Like many of my closet acquisitions, I randomly bought the blue Nike hat on a whim because (1) it was on sale, and (2) I was having a bad hair day (this was back when I cared what my hair looked like, so I think it was around 1995 or so). As I wore the hat out of the store, I noticed that it didn't need any adjustment and that the overall fit was perfect.

That hat became my constant companion. When I went to college the next year and couldn't be bothered with showering before class, my blue hat accompanied me along to philosophy and meterology lessons. When I went to the gym, my trusty blue hat went with me there as well. I have more pictures of me in college wearing that hat than not. (If any of you know the Irishman, he could be writing this post, except his hat loyalty changes on a biannual basis).

As I started packing for trips to Greece, Paris and the Grand Canyon, my Nike hat was at the top of my list in between deoderant and toothpaste. Fast forward about a decade and my Nike hat made the trip to the hospital with me when Parker was born. In other words, it's been on every single trip with me for the last 13 years and I've somehow managed to not lose it or stain it.

As I continue to put that hat on week after week, I can't help but think of the miles it's traveled and the trips that it's made and that every once and a while, among all of our wasteful spending on junky things, we happen to strike gold.

Sheriff Nona

After the Irishman and I got married, he talked me into getting a dog. I had never been a dog owner before (well, I did have my bionic cat Payton who chews everything and fetches, but I don't think he really counts), but I had always wanted a dog. We started researching breeds (ok, so I started researching breeds and the Irishman would offer grunts of agreement or dissent) and during the course of my search, I kept coming across the Cardigan Corgi. I had heard of Pembroke Corgis before (Queen Elizabeth has like six of them), but I had never come across the Corgis with the tail before. So, we bought a couple of books about Corgis and decided that the Cardigan was the one for us.

Fast forward a couple of months and we had selected a breeder, who had a black and white female pup available for us. From the moment we brought Nona home, she was a small adult. She never exhibited any puppy-like behaviors and she did great in obedience training. In case you aren't familiar with Corgis, they're in the herding family with Border Collies and German Shepherds. In other words, they're working dogs. All of the books about Corgis said that because of their natural instinct to work, family dogs will create their own jobs.

Well, Nona found her own job in our house in a BIG way. Nona is the law. She knows every rule that exists in the house. The cats are prohibited from doing the following things: playing with the mini-blinds, pushing the metal baby gate, and scratching the couch. If any of these transgressions take place during her watch, Sheriff Nona will come tearing around the corner, barking at the top of her lungs and nipping at their heels. "Move along you juvenile delinquents," she says. "We'll have none of your shenanigans around these parts, you hear?"

As impressive as this form of canine policing is, Nona has taken it upon herself to make new rules in the house. These are her additions to the cat rules: no jumping onto the kitchen counter, no meowing loudly for any reason whatsoever and finally, do not chase each other at full speed through the house. This will cause Nona to go absolutely ballistic and you can almost hear her shouting, "Walk, don't run you little punks!"

We weren't exactly sure how the addition of a toddler into our family would sit with the Sheriff. Toddlers are (by nature) loud, wild and everywhere at once. Much to our relief, Nona adores Parker. However, I suspect that this is because he tries to pick Payton up by the tail every chance he gets. In Nona's world, this is a just punishment for all of his kitty crimes. You see, for all of her bravado, Payton generally ignores her prodding. He squints his one good eye at her and says, "Listen you little whippersnapper, I was here first and I'll be damned if I let some hyper bitch push me around." Whoa, that Payton's a feisty one, eh? (Oh and technically, he's not swearing because Nona is a female dog).

The Best Week. Ever.

So, I just completed the first full week of my new life and I'm a little bit in love with it (ok, a lot in love with it). After 6 years of working full-time and 1 year of working full-time from home with an infant, the ability to leave the house at my leisure is a radical concept. Honestly, I feel like I'm back in undergrad, only this time around, I fully appreciate what a luxury a flexible schedule is. My buddy Meg and I nostalgically talk about how we used to lay out by the pool in between classes and go to the gym for a ridiculous number of hours (because to our 19 year old brains, being tan without being fit would have been a complete travesty). And guess what I'm doing now...going to the pool between jobs and hitting the gym/road for ridiculously long hours - does life get any better than this??

This month has been full of new beginnings. Let's review:

1. Parker started "school" (this is what elitists call daycare) and he just completed his first week. Parker is having a blast there and quite frankly, doesn't want to come home. Every day when I show up to get him I ask, "Parker, do you want to go home?" He consistently replies with a resounding, "No." No response could possibly make me happier. His classroom nickname is "busy bee" because he is constantly in motion (but in a non-ADD way). The icing on the cake is that he's so tired from daycare, he's actually sleeping for 4-5 hour stretches! (Ok, so this is a small victory, but when you're chronically sleep-deprived, you'll take anything you can get). He's such an easy kid and couldn't possibly be more lovable. For all of our respective flaws, the Irishman and I are both mightily impressed with how wonderful Parker turned out.

2. I started a new job. My new position is seriously a dream. I work 20 hours a week and I have an office if I choose to use it, but working from home is perfectly ok as well. Did I mention that I can work those 20 hours at my leisure? I keep feeling like I won the life lottery, but the truth is that a PhD should count for something and in my world, that something is total flexibility. I recall a conversation that I had with my brother a couple of years ago when he was up to his eyeballs in Corporate America working crazy hours and making good money. We were talking about the different directions that our lives had gone and I recall telling him that, "Bro, in twenty years, you'll be driving a 6-Series BMW with a bank full of cash, but you'll work so many hours that you'll never get a chance to spend it. In 20 years, I'll be driving a Honda and have just a little padding in the bank, but I'll be teaching one class a semester and spending three months a year in Greece. I think you should take it easy before you retire at 60 and have a heart attack the next day." Well, big brother has now joined "the other side" and works his own hours and for himself. And you know what, in twenty years, he'll have the Beamer and the money in the bank and the time to spend it. Hmmm, maybe I should be a life coach? (Don't you love how I take all the credit for everything? I'm good like that.)

3. Running and swimming and cycling, oh my! If you haven't figured it out yet, I like to work out...a lot. It's not so much the exercise itself or the physical results, it's the fact that I feel so damn productive. There is nothing like the feeling of finishing a really good workout. Pushing yourself beyond your normal limits, challenging yourself to go farther, longer, faster. Knowing that when push comes to shove, you are in total control. Plus, you're doing something good for yourself. Honestly, I work out solely for myself. An introvert like me is insanely happy with quiet time in my own head. I also like feeling strong and motivated. Plus, talk about a stress reliever. I challenge you to try to think about anything remotely stressful while you're trying desperately to get air and put one foot in front of the other mile after mile. You just can't and when you're done with your workout, you're too tired to care. I might add that running (or whatever your exercise drug of choice is) is much cheaper than therapy.

4. I've gone out with friends twice in the last week, and stayed out past midnight. I had a blast! This, more than anything else, is an indication of my liberation from my former life. My new life motto: Carpe diem!

Ok folks, that's our week in review. I should be posting another recipe in the next day or two, so stay tuned!

Hello Old Friend

Today, I did something that I have been putting off for a long time. Something that I've been yearning to do, but didn't have the courage to try. I got back in the pool. Swimming was my first real love (other than Chewbacca of course) and like an old relationship that lost its spark, I wondered how we would feel about each other when we met again. Oh sure, I saw the pool from time to time, but always from a distance and always with apprehension.

In my prime, swimming was an art form for me. I used to cut through the water like a sculptor molds clay. It was an intimate relationship to be sure. We spent almost 6 hours a day together for more than half of my life and we had been through a lot of ups and downs including injuries and victories. If any of you have ever been really into a sport, you'll know that the sport really does become almost a person to you. I agonized over quitting my senior year. It really was the worst break up that I've ever had. I knew it was time to move on, but what else would I do with myself? Picking up another sport was like asking a concert pianist to play the violin - it seemed almost silly.

So, I did what I do best. I cut it out of my life cold turkey. In one fell swoop, I was no longer a swimmer by trade, but if I'm being honest, I've always been one in my soul and that you can't erase. Gradually, I started running and cycling on the side, but neither sport ever got into my head like swimming did. We were soulmates and it was time that we gave it another chance.

So today, I packed up my suit, goggles and cap and headed down to the pool. I had butterflies in my stomach as if I were about to enter the Olympic arena. I walked over to an empty lane and stretched like I had been taught in what seemed a lifetime ago. I looked around at the other swimmers and wondered if I looked like an imposter. It was only a fleeting thought though because I was staring at the water, wondering what it was going to feel like when I dove in. So I put on my cap and goggles, took a deep breath and I took the plunge.

It was like diving into a warm embrace. Lovers, reunited at last and wondering what the hell took so long. As I gathered my bearings over the first couple of laps, I knew that my technique was still perfect, but my strength and endurance were sorely lacking. It wasn't until I entered the pool that I realized that I didn't have a workout planned for the day, but you know what? That was completely ok. The water and I, well, we're going to need some time to get reacquainted. There's really no rush because this time, we're back together for the long haul.

I swam until I was tired and content and with a small sigh of disappointment, I got out of the water. I got my stuff together and started to head back out to the parking lot. When I was almost there, I threw a look at the pool over my shoulder as if to say, "Don't worry, we'll see each other again really soon." All in all, I would have to say that it was a great new beginning.

Please do me a favor though. Kindly refrain from telling the pool that I've enjoyed a casual relationship with cycling and I'm currently dating the road via running. Swimming was always a time hoarder and I don't think that the pool would take too kindly to knowing that other sports are enjoying my company as well. Thank you.

Hello, My Name is Cyn And I'm An Elitist

Ok, so seriously, I'm obssessed with this demotivational poster. It's perfect. The picture, the message, everything about it resonates with me on the most basic level. I don't know what happened in America over the last 20 years or so, but somehow the unskilled and below-average acheivers took control over the "mission statement" of this country. Tell me if any of the following sound familiar:

"Everyone's a winner."

"Good effort...way to be a team player."

"It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game."


Can someone please explain to me how we got here? How did effort trump skill? We award gold stars to kids for trying hard, yet failing miserably at something and we give out trophies to both teams who played in the game regardless of outcome.

This kind of gratuitous back-patting is most apparent when I get 18-year old kids in the classroom who have a room full of gold stars and effort trophies. I know exactly who they are on the day following the test or the grading of an assignment. They say things to me like, "I studied really hard, doesn't that count for something?" or "But I followed the directions, why didn't I get an A?"

This phenomenon isn't just limited to undergraduates either. I've seen many grad students pushed through the program for "all of their hard work," yet who had an inability to master the material or come up with a single original thought.

I would argue that the kids are completely unprepared for the real world, but that would not be completely true. Having just come off of 7 years of working for state government agencies, it's grossly apparent there as well. Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of very productive and competent people who work for the state and I've had the good fortune to work with a number of them. But let me just tell you, when you spot one another, you cling to each other for dear life. That person becomes your go-to gal/guy and you avoid all others at all costs because it's just so damn depressing to watch someone fumble so badly with something that they have no business working on in the first place.

Now, I know that this sounds completely elitist and on one level, it probably is, but I think there's an important point to be made. I absolutely believe in hard work. I don't think that you can get anywhere in this life without earning it, but there's a difference between rewarding someone's work ethic and rewarding their incompetence. For example, I can train for the rest of my life to run the best marathon that I'm capable of, but does that mean that I deserve a place at the Olympics because I worked just as hard as the women who qualified?

Failing is an important part of life because we will all fail. Hell, I've failed more times and at more things than I care to remember, but I picked myself back up from the temper tantrum I was throwing, I licked my wounds and my resolve to succeed grew even greater. Yes, watching your child or your husband (or yourself!) fail is a hard thing to do, but sheltering them from the heartache never allows them to find that inner strength that they need to try even harder next time.

If you've visited my profile, you'll have see that the Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged are among my favorite books (both by Ayn Rand). If you completely disagree with me and are currently vowing never to visit this blog again, I challenge you to read those books and tell me what you think (in the order listed). If what I said strikes a cord with you, I highly recommend that you read those books (in the order listed). If you're completely ambivalent to everything I said and you're just reading this because you're bored, well, then you have time to go read those books. They're that important. Really.

We are not all equally blessed at everything, but we all have strengths and a skill set entirely our own. Use it.

Running Update

Well, I can officially say that I'm back in the game. I've done three 4-mile runs in the last week and I feel pretty good about that, all things considered. A couple things I've learned though (and these are in no particular order).

1. Running up hills totally sucks. My knees told me as much a couple of days last week, so I'm going to stick with flat roads until I get my orthotics completely broken in.

2. 30 is NOT the new 20 when it comes to levels of fitness, particularly when you were crazily fit at 20. I have to keep reminding myself that it's ok if I can't go flying out the door to effortlessly run 14 miles (ok, so 4 miles isn't effortless either, but you don't need to rub it in, ok?) However, I love nothing more than a challenge so I'm looking forward to adding more mileage as the weeks roll by and I hope to report back pretty soon saying that I OWN 4 miles.

3. All sports bras are not created equally...I'll leave it at that.

4. Doing two runs less than 12 hours apart less than 2 weeks back in the game is not the smartest thing you can do. Rest days are good. Back-to-back runs are bad. Amen.

5. Running with someone else is a good thing. The miles seem to go by faster, you look cooler because you have a running partner, and your pride won't let you quit before you begin. I highly suggest having a running partner. I'm constantly looking for people to run with so if you're interested, let me know! I'm currently taking applicants for anywhere from 3-20 mile runs over the next 6 months.

And finally number 6. My son could care less what my running accomplishments are for this week. When I was telling him my progress, this was the response that I got: