Foot Fetish

Warning: this posting may be a bit TMI about my feet. Feel free to read or not read. But if you do, be prepared. Nighmares may ensue.

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I have decided to train for the Little Rock half-marathon. But before I subject my feet to another round of pavement-pounding punishment, I decided to go see a podiatrist to help mitigate my foot problems. And a whole lot of problems there are--my feet are flat as pancakes and wide as a Winnebago. Worst of all, I've got bunions so large that K is convinced that they've got heartbeats of their own.

So, there I was at the podiatrist's office, sitting with my shoes and socks off when the doctor walked in. After he shook my hand and introduced himself, he looked over my feet and promptly exclaimed, "WOW! Look at these bunions! Goodness, they're huge! Do they hurt?"

Me: "Umm...not really."
Doc: "Well those are really something else. They look like they should hurt."

Jeeze, thanks, Doc. Without bunions, you wouldn't be in business, buddy.

As the doctor started pulling my feet this way and that,  I noticed that he was not wearing any gloves. How gross. I can't imagine having to touch other people's sweaty, stinky feet all day long. And that's when I remembered that I had just shaken his hand, which meant that unless he had washed his hands before seeing me, I probably now had a half-a-dozen sets of foot funk doing the happy dance on my right palm.

And then the good doctor does something unimaginable. He gets an itch, and the fingers that had moments before kneaded my feet started inching towards his left eye.

Holy crap. Don't do it, man.

Yet his hand continued to move up, until it reached under his glasses and there he was, scratching and rubbing his foot-funked fingers across his eyelids.

Sweet Baby Jesus. I am simultaneously fascinated and skeeved out.

The rest of the visit was uneventful. After I was measured for my orthotics, I went off on my merry little way to the nearby bathroom, where I fervently scrubbed the funk off of my hands.

Happy Birthday to My Little Man!

My little guy celebrated his one year birthday yesterday. Since we are still up to our elbows with moving boxes, we kept it very low key--a couple of hats, balloons, and a nice ice cream cake from Cold Stone Creamery (P.S. -- no hat in this picture, because as it turns out, he hates hats).

Happy Birthday, Little Man!

We've learned so much about you since when you came out kicking and screaming a year ago.

Like how you absolutely adore and idolize you sister, even when she is tormenting you or when she does the silliest things...

...or how you will put just about anything and everything in your mouth...

...or what a happy little guy you would become and how much you love to giggle and laugh!

We love you, B! We are so very grateful that you came into our lives a year ago, and look forward to watching your personality develop!

Desperately seeking normal

I traveled back to Little Rock this week to transition my old job to the new guy that they just hired to replace me. Despite the fact that I have not been in the Little Rock office for almost three months, I slipped right back into the environment, joking around with my old colleagues and clients. I walked to the same old bathroom that I had been walking to for years, got my lunch at the same old cafeteria. It was as if I had never left. The only difference, though, is that instead of driving back to Maumelle at the end of the day, I kept going north towards Bentonville back to my new "home." I put this in quotes because this is a place where everything still feels utterly unfamiliar, where we are living in a temporary apartment, literally out of our suitcases and paper boxes.

In the past few months, I've felt like I've been straddling a familiar world and an unfamiliar world. Like, despite the fact that I'm still with my company and understand how to navigate it (familiar world), I'm serving a new client and still trying to understand their MO (unfamiliar world). Or, when I met up with a bunch of girlfriends that I knew from Little Rock (the familiar world), for a girl's weekend in California (the unfamiliar world).

Plus, I've been traveling a lot these past few months, for both work and personal reasons. There have been times, while in midst of my morning grog, I've wondered where the heck I was--is this Atlanta? Michigan? Am I back in Little Rock or Bentonville? It has been very disorienting. There has been no pattern, no routine, no predictability in my life. I've felt off. Like when, in a dream, you find yourself in a big fancy ball and you are wearing nothing but a pair of old underwear. You feel out of sorts and out of place, but  for some reason, no one notices it. You feel off, yet everything is normal.

Which is why I am looking so forward to closing on our home tomorrow, for the movers to come on Friday, and for us to finally move out of our ghetto temporary apartment and settle down. I used to believe that I would have no problem living out of apartments and hotels, but now I'm desperately seeking a bit of normalcy in my life.

My Catch-Up Blog

I'm back! Hope you didn't miss me too much. The last three months have passed by in a frenzy of activities--relocating from Little Rock to Bentonville, a week trip to the Dominican Republic to celebrate our ten-year anniversary (I know, rough life...some pictures to come), and a trip to Michigan to see Grandma K. I have quickly acclimated to my new role at work and even was able to slip away for a girl's weekend in California in July. On top of that, we have managed to sell a house, buy a house and survive an apartment flood in the temporary ghetto-style living space that we've fashioned for ourselves. There have been some tears and tantrums in-between, but mostly, we've had lots of the fun and craziness that's typically central to our somewhat disorganized life.

For the most part, the kids have been a couple of troopers, rolling with the punches. They have been going through lots of changes as well.

EB . . .

...has been a bit moody and whiney lately. I can blame it on the TV show "Caillou"--I can't stand that little brat; that kid whines more than anyone I know. But mostly, we think it may be her way of acting out her insecurities with the move, entering Kindergarten and her jealousy at the amount of attention BBoy gets from strangers and family.

...is starting to take after Mommy with her love of making lists. Here is the list that she made prior to her road trip to Michigan:

...is, despite her whininess, an all-around good egg. Nothing makes her beam more than when she makes Mommy and Daddy happy.

BBoy . . .

...uttered his first words--"Mama!"

...has an adorably mischievous smile, crawls around everywhere, gets into everything and won't take no for an answer

...has already learned to use his little instrument. The other day I had him pinned down to change his diaper. He knew he was no match for my She-Ra strengths, so what did the little bugger do? He made like an Old Geyser and peed on my face. Guess it's a good thing that urine is antiseptic.

School Program and the Renegade Country

Another school year has flown by! EB’s school holds an annual year-end program, and this year’s theme was “countries of the world.” It was quite cute, if a bit corny in a “let’s-all-hold-hands-because-we-are-unique-but-all-the-same” sort of way. Each student whose parent(s) were born in a foreign country dressed up in the country’s traditional garb and counted to ten in their respective languages. Here’s a picture of EB, dressed up in her Chinese chipao. She looks like she's about to go crouching tiger/hidden dragon on you, no? Next to her is her classmate, looking absolutely adorable in her kimono.


To add to the international flair, EB’s teacher wanted each student to hold the flag of the country that they were representing. Little did she know that this would invite a lesson in Chinese history from K. A few weeks back, she sent us a note letting us know that she was going to order a Chinese flag for EB. This prompted K to tell her that he would really rather not have her daughter wave around a flag that symbolized the Communist Party. When he saw a blank look on her face, he proceeded to explain to her how the flag came to be—the history of Communist vs the Nationalist Party, the fact that it was adopted in 1949 when the Communist Party took over, so on and so forth.

In the end, she ordered EB a Taiwanese flag, which was probably fitting anyway since that’s where I was born. We wondered if it would raise ruckus from other Chinese parents who may be "One China" proponents, what with all of the ongoing political storm going on. But thankfully all was calm, and we were able to avert an ugly international incident right here in Little Rock.

In other news: we are moving to Bentonville! I got a promotion at work and will be working on a large retail account whose icon used to be very smiley and whose name rhymes with “Bart.” It’s bittersweet for me-- Little Rock has been great to us, but work-wise it’s a great opportunity. Since I anticipate lots of craziness in preparation for the move, this will probably be my last blog entry for the next couple of months. I know that there will be many disappointed readers out there (*snort*) but fret not. I will be back after all the dust settles. Ta-ta for now.

What's the best thing about running 10 miles?

Eating.

I am proud to announce that I completed the Austin 10-mile run. And I'm equally proud that I got to eat, drink and celebrate with guilt-free abandonment afterwards.

Here is a pic from the race site. I'm not sure why a part of my head is cut-off, but since I sort of lifted the picture from the site, I guess I can't complain.



I looked energetic, no? Well don't let the picture fool you. I was exhausted. My running pace, at 12.5 minute mile, is nothing to boast about. Especially since in my younger days, I had managed to complete the New York City Marathon at a sub-11 minute mile and the half-marathon at a 10 minute mile. In contrast, this time around, I found myself walking for stretches at a time. Not to mention the fact that my hips and lower back were shot for days after the race. What can I say, this gal is getting old. Years of prancing around in heels, schlepping around lap top bags and two child-births have wreaked havoc on my body.

Anyhow, enough about the running, and onto the part about eating and drinking. According to my trusty calorie counter, I burned a little over 3,000 calories during the race. But amongst the 3 margaritas, the two glasses of beer, the burger, fries, other fried munchies and ice cream from Amy's, I probably ended up in a calorie-surplus situation. But who cares. Just LOOK at this delectable goodie I got to enjoy! It made the pain and agony of the race all worth it.

Wordless Wednesday