Poetry Friday: While I Was Running, This Happened

So, I decided to try running. Again.

Is it any wonder I did not continue running after this?

Since last year's Warrior Dash, my exercise has been limited to yoga class a couple of times a week. I was mighty flexible, but I put on a few pounds. Which led me to try a TV infomercial exercise program. I ended up with sciatica in my flabby, flexible glutes.

When my 13-year-old wanted to continue running after her track camp (so she'd keep her stamina up for field hockey season), I was all like, "Sure, I'll run with you."

It has taken us the entire summer to work up to a series of eight-minute runs.  I signed us up for a 5K (or 3.1 miles, September 15) to keep us motivated. 

I like running well enough for exercise, though I prefer yoga. What I love about running is the conversations I have with my daughter. Yes, we are now in shape enough to talk while running.

While we were out last weekend, this happened:

It was a lovely morning. I was singing show tunes while running through our neighborhood. My daughter was threatening to run back to the house without me if I did not stop singing.

"Mom, you are so weird," she said.

"Be honest," I said. "Do you really mind? Am I seriously that strange?"

I have frequent Weird Mom moments, such as
last Saturday's fangirl freak-out when I met author
Peter S. Beagle (The Last Unicorn) at Otakon.

She had to give this some thought before she answered. "It's just that my friends' moms are down to earth," she said. Meaning, they tend to talk about practical things like school, work and home. "I like it that you're so different." Where different = singing show tunes at inappropriate moments, talking about poetry, and occasionally having purple hair.

At age 44, it's nice to have some confirmation -- especially from a middle schooler -- that it's cool to be yourself. And I have running to thank for it.

Here is a running poem, also on the theme of parent-child relationships, from the Poetry Foundation.

The Runner
By Allen Grossman

The man was thinking about his mother
And about the moon.

                             It was a mild night.
He was running under the stars. The moon
Had not risen,

                             but he did not doubt it would
Rise as he ran.

                             Small things crossed the road
Or turned uneasily on it. His mother
Was far away, like a cloud on a mountain

Read the rest at the Poetry Foundation.

A few years ago Runner's World magazine ran an entire article on "The Poetry of Running."

My mother always says that she has her best conversations with my brother in the car. What activity or place brought out the deep talk in you and your parent when you were a child? Or in you and your children now?

Think about it while you visit this week's Poetry Friday offerings. The poetry party is at Tumblr this week. Thanks to Lisa at Steps and Staircases for prompting us all to try something new. Dare to be different, Lisa!

14 Kinds of Awesome

I forced myself out of bed at 5:45 this morning, 30 minutes after our various alarms started buzzing and rocking out some kind of digital samba. It's the new reality of our lives with a high schooler. And it's undermining my longtime claim that I am a morning person.

High schooler and hubby out the door, I tried to revive myself with a few chapters of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. My middle schooler -- the more self-efficient of our two kids -- was getting herself dressed for Picture Day.

My 11-year-old having an Awesome moment.

"Why don't you wear your new jeans skirt, instead of those soccer shorts?" I started.

Which quickly evolved into, "Look at all the things in this closet that still have tags on. I bought you those blue pants six months ago!"

I admit to being a veteran of The Mother-Daughter Closet Wars. But mostly from the other side of the hamper. The memory of my mother and me battling over my favorite old sweatpants (too thin to wear to school), too-dark nail polish and lipstick, and jeans (I'd just gotten the holes perfect when Mom threw them out) are usually enough for me to shut my  mouth and leave my kid and her closet alone.

My girl was about to walk out the door: tears in eyes, shoulders slumped, hair hanging over face. I thought about a blog post a friend (and HS girl-mom) shared with me this weekend.

The name of the blog is "Redefine Girly: Let's Change the Way We Think about Our Girls." The post is titled, "Waking Up Full of Awesome."

Not only did I not wake up full of awesome, I un-awesomed my daughter today. Here's an excerpt from the "Redefine Girly" blog post:

There was a time when you were five years old,

and you woke up full of awesome.

You knew you were awesome.

You loved yourself.

You thought you were beautiful,

even with missing teeth and messy hair and mismatched socks inside your grubby sneakers.

You loved your body, and the things it could do.

You thought you were strong.

You knew you were smart.

  

Do you still have it?

The awesome.

Did someone take it from you?

Ouch.

I had to change my thinking to fix it. On the way to the bus stop, I pointed out some of the awesome things my daughter did this morning:

#1 Awesome -- You made your bed.

#2, #3, #4 Awesome -- You brushed your teeth, washed your face and brushed your hair.

She was starting to get into it already. I wasn't getting eye-rolls. I detected a smile.

#5 Awesome -- Did you remember to pack your gym clothes? You did? Awesome.

#6 Awesome -- "I packed my lunch." No, I packed your lunch. "Mom, that's your #1 Awesome. But I packed my lunch in my backpack. That counts."

#7 Awesome -- You remembered your clarinet.

Soon, the kid was laughing at the every-day stuff that "counted," and trying to think of ways to bolster my awesome-list (since teeth,  hair and face counted as three for her, she reasoned, it should count for three on my list too) so I could also be Full of Awesome. We both made it to 14 Kinds of Awesome before the bus came.

Feeling a lot more Awesome -- even in the rain.

I even got credit for wearing pants (because not wearing any pants to the middle school bus stop would be the opposite of awesome).

Have an Awesome Day.