Squeaky Wheel Gone Flat

It is unusual that there are blog posts two days in a row from me, however, there is an issue to be addressed. Yesterday, I was complaining/ whining about being called a "Pest" by my oldest, only brother, Matt, in a letter that he had written to our sister, Nikki. I challenged the fact that I was a pest in a series of texts to him before he had major surgery to correct a faulty heart. He posted this on Facebook today (which is where my blog posts go, so it may seem like nobody likes me because no one writes a comment on the blog, but 99% of the comments are on Facebook. No one wants to admit that they are a follower of me. Too much of a commitment. Thank you Jeri and Emily): "Kim, I haven't received any texts from you in months. First rule of pestering: make contact with target. Somewhere, somebody (who may or may not live in the same area code as me) is saying: "Why does this Kim person keep pestering me?!" Me, I've been sitting here wondering why my fantastic sister Kim hasn't contacted me in weeks :-)." Yeah, I'm a little shocked by the ":-)" at the end, too, since Matt is not the kind of guy to go around putting an expression to the written word, but it may be the new heart that he has. Here I was miffed that I was labeled a "Pest", but apparently it is worse. I am an INCOMPETENT Pest. When I first started my nursing career, and there were no jobs to be had, nurses were getting laid off, and I received some of the best career advice "A squeaky wheel always gets the oil." And I did get the job she was referring to, but now, I feel like I'm a squeaky wheel that has lots all of its air (this parallels with another physical feature that has lost its volume as well), and while squeaking, am not doing anything. But, he did call me Fantastic Sister Kim (I know he didn't capitalize it like it is a real title), so I guess my flat wheel did serve some purpose.
P.S. I love spellcheck again! I just wish there was a log or something of all the times that I have correctly spelled the entire body of a blog or whatever, and then it gets tallied and compared to other bloggers or overachievers, and then you get to share with the rest of the world your accuracy in spelling.

I am not a Pest

When my sister, Nikki, turned forty this year, my over super mom achieving sister, Jen, made her a scrapbook with a letter from all the family about how great (or crazy things) it was growing up with her. I was really glad, because it gave me an opportunity to remember all of the fun times that we had. She brought the scrapbook to St. George when we ran the marathon so we could read what the others had to say. When I read the letter from my brother, Matt, I was a little miffed that he chose to say that I was a "pest" when we were growing up. A pest? Me? How could I have been a pest to him? Sure, I went with him downtown to the Video Cave and hovered watching him play Space Invaders for hours, and then I lingered outside of his room waiting to get a chance to sleep in his bed when he was gone, and may have listened in on a few phone conversations while he was talking to a girlfriend, and may have just been hanging around when he had his hot friends over, but does that really make me a pest? I beg to differ. So he had a minor life threatening procedure does this past week. An ablation. The name is so fun. It required a highly skilled physician sticking a cautering device into his heart to burn the area that was causing his heart to be stuck in atrial fibrillation. He'd already been cardioverted before,, but that didn't work. SO before the procedure, I felt that it was the perfect opportunity to have him rescind the label that he had given me as pest. First I texted: Hey, before you go under the knife, make sure you change your will to say "fantastic sister, Kim" and not "pesty sister, Kim". I waited for a generous amount of time (two hours) without a response. So again: Hey, I can wait for that update on your will as long as I know you are speaking with your lawyer. Nothing. I waited until he was done with his life and death situation to try again, but I went through his wife (my favorite sister) is your husband circling the drain? If no, ask him why he hasn't taken back the pest statement. She said he had a diagnosed case of no remorse. Certainly, this brush with death should have cracked him and gone through the stages of grief including 8: Make a list of all persons we have harmed, and become willing to make amends with them. So again, I texted the SIL, I can't take it. Pull the plug on him. I'm willing to have that will read with the Pesty Kim label there. But she wouldn't do it. He didn't have enough life insurance to give her the life that she deserves, so I guess she's keeping him. But now as he recovers, I see another opportunity to pester him. I may embrace this title and show him what a real pest can be. Too bad he lives so far away.

No Swimming!

Last Sunday, I was enjoying cleaning up the kitchen, when I noticed I had a visitor at my kitchen window, out on the counter top. I let out a shriek and landed on the counter in the kitchen yelling for the kids to GO GET DAD! It was a mouse. Kevin picked up his weapon of choice, a broom (he had used a broom to kill a mouse years ago when we lived in the Avenues), and wounded the rodent leaving a trail of blood and two boys, one spotlight, and a broom, searching in the backyard in hopes of finishing the job (sorry if there are any PETA people out there). No luck. Fast forward two days, while in my role as the pool girl, I found it. Stiff and floating. I quickly escorted Blake back in to the house, and waited for help to arrive. This came in the form of a 12 year old boy, who ran outside when I told him what I had found. He thought this was the best thing that had happened in a long time. He now had a passenger for his RC boat that he had been cruising around in the pool. I was a spoil sport and nixed the idea. I have never been so happy to say that we will not be swimming for seven months. That will give me plenty of time to decontaminate that pool.

The Hills

No, this is not a blog about an MTV "reality" show, this is my attempt to describe my fun, yet hillacious weekend. And a disclaimer: This is going to be a long detailed post, so if you don't have the time to read it now, I am not offended or slighted in the least way. I know how it is, and this post will be here forever, as long as I don't accidentally delete it, so there is no pressing need to read the information now, as there is not going to be a pop quiz on any of the details herein. P.S. I only got 1.25 hours of sleep last night due to over thinking, so if this gets wacky, I'm blaming it on that.

Thursday-Drove to Las Vegas by myself! This really isn't an accomplishment or anything, we had never driven through Vegas to get to Utah, so the experience was new for me, and I'm hoping it will be the last time I travel THROUGH the Hoover Dam. At least until construction is complete. Northbound you travel at a rate of 10 mph for 3 miles, southbound you travel at a rate of 4 mph for 4.5 miles. Not fun.

That's the new bridge to allow those not wishing to drive at a snail's pace to keep their momentum as they travel. Can't wait.

I picked up my two sisters, Stephanie and Jen, from the Las Vegas airport, and we were on our way. My parents and Nikki had already made it to St. George because they didn't have any dam traffic, so they had gotten us checked in to our lovely condo. Huge screen TV included to watch all the football or conference your little heart desires. With the assistance of my St. George navigator (thanks, Nik. For those of you who are college students, Stephanie is available to get you around Dixie area on a bike.), we found the local Costco. We purchased four items for the group, but Costco's always fun. And different in Utah. As are most things there. We had a rousing night of watching football where I learned a new football term. For those of you who don't know, my dad coached football at Skyline High School and we watched a LOT of football growing up, so while I don't know positions and everything, I like to think that I have a solid football knowledge base. So at the end of a game (it could have been the USU vs BYU game or Texas A&M and another team-they have blurred in my memory at this point) the kicker was "iced". I thought my family had just made it up until the announcer said "They're icing the kicker." You'll have to google it because this post is getting long enough as it is.

Friday, Kellie and Perry Jr. came in on a little plane. Perry Jr is Baby Yan'Tu, but my dad thought that Perry Jr. suited him just fine. Perry Jr. tried his hardest to stop being cute the whole time we were there, but to no avail. We all went to the expo. Who doesn't love a good walk around looking at stuff that you didn't know you needed until you got there and then thought it was the best idea you'd heard all day? The best part was when I saw a sales person from the local running store wearing hot pink knee high compression socks. I walked up to him and told him that he was my hero, because whenever I wear my white knee high compression socks in public, I get "Nice socks." I knew if he was planning on running around in those, I would fit right in. We met an 80 year old man from Japan who had run the St. George marathon for ten years in a row! He was kind enough to let us take our picture with him.
What an inspiration! Isn't he cute?

Then we got down to business. Shopping. Dad had chosen to stay behind because he knew. He knew that five girls + one mom=extended periods of shopping and talking, and why not use that time more effectively by golfing two balls for nine holes. I'd say that's excellent time management skills. Lunch at Smash Burger was a party in my tummy.

We decided that at this point it would be a good idea to drive the course to see what we could expect along the way. We had to drive it backwards then forwards because there is only one way to Central, Utah where the race starts. We came across the first "little" hill and I assured Nikki that it was nothing to be concerned about since there wasn't much of an incline, so it really wouldn't feel like much, to which she said "It's going to feel like hill!" That got a great laugh and a future idea for next year.

Nikki and I at the start line. Now we drove the course as we would be running it. Didn't seem too bad, but there was the ONE hill that I thought I had trained properly for. No problem. Emily told me I had this one, and at least I wasn't running an ultra marathon like she was.

Of course, we had a spaghetti dinner, reminiscent of many prerace meals from my childhood, not for me of course, but for the champs. Another football game. May have had another "ice the kicker." I had bought us all matching pajamas in celebration of Nikki's 40th birthday so that we would all have something to take home to remember.

Dad didn't get any matching pajamas, but I don't think he really cared. Heck, he may not even WEAR pajamas for all I know.

Race day! The big question that I got asked was: Was I going to wear makeup? Uh, yeah. I needed all the help that I could get to look bright eyed and bushy tailed at 4 am. Jen woke up to take us (didn't ask her, she just did). The buses were very well organized and lined up ready to get us to the starting line. At the start line, there were fires and hot cocoa and bandaids and port a potties, all essential to a good start. Nikki and I discussed our strategy. Don't pee your pants, stay with the 3:40 pacer, toss gloves as needed, don't step on any roadkill, avert eyes when someone dashes for the bushes. The start of a marathon is really uneventful for those back in the pack. It's more like a shuffle. But we started. Yay us! Nikki had used the johns (sorry, John) five times before we started, and hit promptly hit the first one at mile three. I ran ahead, stopped at the next one, she ran ahead of me, she stopped, I ran on, staying with the 3:40 guy. we ran over a few hills that were tought, but I knew "the big one" was coming up, so I kept on. My family planned on cheering us on in Veyo, so I was looking for them. They were hard to miss:
This provided some great comic relief. I laughed as they took this picture:
That's me waving my arms like a crazy girl.

And then The Hill. It looked benign enough, maybe a 6 % grade for 2 miles. My coach, Stephanie (she was made my coach the day before. Her experience in coaching is that she talked to a guy from Gilbert that morning, who had run the Top of Utah marathon two weeks before) said that I was to look straight ahead while I ran up the hill and it would feel less bad. As I started the Climb, Gonna Fly Now by Bill Conti or "Rocky's Theme" came on. This may have been the worst strategic move that I could have made during this race because I ask you, How is it possible not to run your guts out when you hear the trumpets start on that song?! It's impossible! And I was not about to take the time to get my iPod off my arm, change songs, and put it back on. So I pushed. Hard. Up hill. That dang hill NEVER ended. (I feel like I'm sounding like a bit of a wimp right now. Check out what Emily did that same day: http://royalpitatoias.blogspot.com/2010/10/more-than-words-extreme.html ). After I had that hill under my belt I swore. Out loud. Under my breath. In the port a potty. I'm not proud of that, but that hill really stunk! After this, everything went downhill ( no pun intended) for me. Walked a little. Started feeling dehydrated. Saw the 3:50 guy go by me. Wished I had spectators to provide social pressure to keep going. Wished I hadn't lost Nikki. Longed for a ride in the ambulance. Although I made sure that I was actually running when the photographers came by. Did get a boost at mile 21 when I saw John and the kids. Nothing like a three year old yellng for you. I asked Braiden if his mom was in front of me (which I knew she MUST be because she had the mental toughness not to wish for an ambulance). She was in front of me. That was kind of bad news for me because it added to the "forget pushing really hard" that I had succumbed to. Then came my coach, Stephanie, to run with me. Thank you, Stephie. I told her not to go too fast because she had fresh legs. The spectators started becoming more regular. Saw mom and Kellie and Perry Jr around mile 23. One of the most welcome sites I saw was four little girls holding out their hands for a high five. Of course I had to high five them. Popsicle at mile 25. Wet towels at mile 25.5 (seriously? No one thought that could be beneficial at mile 18?) Steph left me at mile 26. Do you finish weak or strong? Me, I finished strong. I sprinted to the finish line. Still finished slower than marathon #1. Medal, misters, then ice cream. I cannot figure out who wants to eat right after a long run. Not me. I would rather drink any calories. So I had a Sprite. Ahhhh, Utah. Found my peeps.

That's Nikki during the race. These are my peeps:

Jen ran illegally with Nikki for a while as well. There's even proof that she was in a marathon as she is in one of Nikki's marathon photos. But guess what Nikki's time was for her FIRST (and she says only) MARATHON EVER? 3:48! She qualified for Boston on her very first marathon ever! No wonder she is a state swimming champ! If I could just hone the mental aspects of competitive sports that she has, I could be a force to be reckoned with. Way to go, Nikki! That's how you celebrate turning 40!

Nap. Long hot shower. Conference. Football. Ice the kicker.

We all went our separate ways in the morning. So much fun getting together with my family. We really missed Matt though. He "said" he had a business meeting, but I'm thinking he didn't want to hang around a pest. That's me he's referring to. Me?! A pest?! Well, get ready mister, because this is your notice to clear your schedule for MY 40th birthday celebration. It's a toss up between the Honolulu Marathon, Grand Canyon hike, or a cruise with Michael Ballam (for those of you unfamiliar with Michael Ballam's work, I am a fan of his, mainly for the role I've seen him play many times. I won't say anymore than that for fear of getting accused of sacrilege).

The big question is: When is the next marathon? After doing some research, I have discovered that I need to run a "flat" marathon to be faster. That would be Phoenix or Las Vegas. Phoenix is in January. That's probably the one. Then we are going to Catalina in March, where I will run the marathon there, but this one will be trail run, so I will not be attempting a qualifying run there, just enjoy the run. And what did I learn from this one? Train for the course, not just the most dominant feature of the course. I did A LOT of downhill running, because that's what I thought the course was, but not too much uphill running. And I need to really work on my mental game if I'm going to qualify for anything. But I will take any marathon, running, hobbling, cartwheeling, as long as I get to have some time with just my sisters (and brother).

"It's Broken!"

This is what Blake was saying and inconsolable with tears. He had just been on his trike riding around the house, when he stopped suddenly in the kitchen and burst into tears. After Kevin held him for a few minutes while we tried to figure out what was broken, since he did not appear to have any physical damage to him or anything that was in the vicinity of where he had been, Kevin asked him to show him what was broken. That's when Blake picked up what had broken off the floor. It was a lock of hair. His hair. We continued interrogating him as to what could have caused it. A run in with the Shelf Reliance? A trike gone awry? No. It was assault and battery at the hands of his older sister, Olivia. Was it hair envy or something more sinister such as an attack on a brunette? She had cut his hair with the kitchen scissors. A little lock off the top. She didn't fess up right away, of course, because she knew that her brother loved his hair. This boy spends minutes brushing, spraying, and cockatooing his hair. I don't think that's an actual term, but that's what he does. The good news for him is that the he will still be able to achieve the peaked look that he is going for.

The Second Biggest Loser

This blog is dedicated to my hero, and kindred spirit in self criticism and abs, Emily. She ran the Top of Utah Marathon. She didn't ask me to run with her because she knew I would be singing "I'm on the Top of the World, looking down on creation....." the whole time, and while she is a good sport, would have gotten annoyed by mile 0.5. Her race didn't go like she had planned and trained for. I will attempt a link here: http://royalpitatoias.blogspot.com/2010/09/biggest-loser.html. This is her blog about what happened during the race. Not what she planned like I said. It reminded me of a time in my college years when I faced disappointment after long preparation. I was taking a physiology class at Snow College, which was hard, but I love, love, loved because I was doing well in it, understood everything, and I loved everything science, and I studied like a fiend. I was not accepting anything less than an A. In fact, in my English class my second year there, I protested an A- that I did not feel I deserved. Anyway, I took a test in physiology , thought I aced it, then got my results back. I was crushed. Floored. I had studied! I knew this stuff! I took my test paper home, went in my room, put on some sad music, and laid down on my floor and started crying. Bawling. At this point, my best friend, Julie, walked in my room to find out what was wrong. I told her that I failed my test. I had studied! I knew this stuff! She took the test from my hand, because she couldn't believe that I would have failed. That's when she saw my disappointing score: 89%. B+. Not even an A-! I believe she looked at me incredulously, because unlike my fierce determination to get straight A's during college, her determination was to have a good time. She even went on vacation in our living room for a week during our first quarter. She went on and on about how most people would be happy with this, even ecstatic, and what was wrong with me? I was being too hard on myself! But I knew that it was unacceptable. I didn't get another B the rest of my college career because it stunk so bad that one time. So, Emily, I can empathize. And you are still my hero. In fact, you are probably more my hero now because I get it. And I am sure that you burned that lime green top, or have framed it to remind you NEVER AGAIN. P.S. I love spell check. It reaffirms that I am a great speller when it says "No misspellings found."

My English Assignment

Dillan started middle school. I thought I might break down and cry right in front of him, but I held it together. So I was happy when he came home with his first honors English assignment and it was for me! Well, technically Kevin and I, but I knew who was going to do this. The same person that arranges all of the appointments, extracurricular activities, knows where every single person is at any given point in the day, and knows all of their measurements. Me. The assignment was in a million words or less describe your student. The teacher gave ideas of what to put in the body of the paper such as My student is best at.....(BTW, they can't put things like son/ daughter because there might be a grandparent, aunt, or witch taking care of the student. I learned this when I was the secretary of the PTG. Must be PC.), what are my student's weaknesses, what do I want my student to learn this year, etc. I knew that the teacher would get a lot of boring responses such as "My son likes listening in class, doing his homework, and going to school. He is wonderful at everything. I can't think of one thing I'd like to change about him. He's a gem." I don't know who this child is and have been beating myself up for years thinking that this child was possible and somehow I was doing it wrong. But my son is wonderful and talented and happily flawed. P.S. So am I. I meant the party about being happily flawed. So I decided that the best way to get my assignment to stand out in a sea of a hundred students, I comprised a poem about my boy, er, young man. Here goes.

A Poem Dedicated to Dillan Partridge, My Sweetheart *

Dillan is the eldest of four
And that means that he has patience galore.
Height has always been something he boasts,
If he had his choice, he would live on the coast
To study the life of ocean and sea
And snorkeling and surfing is where he would be.
A natural athlete is what he’s been blessed
And swimming is the sport he does best.
Violin is the instrument he plays,
But fiddling is what he loves to display.
Give him some free time and reading he’ll choose,
Even if it means sleeping he’ll lose.
Handwriting is something he’s trying to fix,
It used to look like he was writing with sticks.
Turning in homework in the past has been rough.
This summer he learned to do the right stuff,
By organizing, planning, and following through
And turning in assignments when they are due.
The subject of writing he needs to improve,
We hope that this year he can get in the groove.
As a teenage boy he’s growing up faster,
And if he ran out of food it would be a disaster.
My sweet little boy is growing up fast,
Before we know it, middle school will be past.

*Please do not tell Dillan I called him My Sweetheart. I would hate to embarrass him. OK, maybe I do enjoy embarrassing him, but not this time. Also, I apologize for any rules that may have been broken as far as meter, rhyme, syntax or any other English violations I may have made. Kim Partridge

His teacher responded that it made her smile to read the poem and appreciated the format I had chosen. Initially when I was composing the email, I asked if I was going to get graded on it, but then I thought "If I don't get an A, I will revise it over and over until I do, and I'm not sure I have the time for that right now." So, instead, I thanked her for the opportunity to reflect on my boy who I love with my whole heart, warts and all. Not that he has a warty heart, or that I have a warty heart, although I may use that phrase now to describe naughty people. "Oh, he didn't know it was bad to run over the old lady with his bike. He has a warty heart."