Birthday Bloat

I think I overate. No, I KNOW I overate. It’s 1:23am, the day after my birthday and I can’t sleep because I feel so full and bloated.

It all started 3 days ago when F and the girls baked me a chocolate cake with raspberry filling and chocolate frosting. Deeeee-lish. I’ve been eating chocolate cake all week.

Yesterday, on my actual birthday, J brought over a slice of chocolate spoon cake and a lemon cheesecake bar. How can I pass those up?

And for my birthday dinner, in addition to appetizers and a bottle of pinot, F and I both had gourmet buffalo burgers so massive that I swear that together, we ate a baby buffalo.

And now I can’t sleep. I shouldn’t complain. It was a splendid birthday, and I LOVE to eat. But it might be time to realize that I can no longer eat like I did 5 years ago. Damn. The 30’s are a bitch.

Baby We Were Born to Run

In the fantastic book Born To Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen, Christopher McDougall travels deep into the Copper Canyons of Mexico to learn the secrets of the Tarahumara Tribe, perhaps the world’s greatest distance runners. It’s a terrific read — fast-paced with an interesting story, great characters and fascinating facts. But, most of all, it’s an inspiring book.

Both F and I read the book. His life started to change even before he was done with the book. Less than a quarter of the way into the book, he told me (with much excitement) that he wanted to start running. What?!?! I’ve been trying to get him running for years and years, and he’s never once been excited about it. All he needed was this book? Can he be serious?

Yup. He started trotting around the house chanting, “Light, smooth, easy, fast. Light, smooth, easy, fast.” I gathered he learned about that running technique from Born to Run. In fact, he was so serious about wanting to run that he went out and bought a pair of Vibram Five Fingers, not typical running shoes, but shoes that would allow him to run practically barefoot. No joke. Not only was my husband wanting to run, but he was wanting to run barefoot. Actually, let me back up.  At first he wanted to sew his own sandals like the folks do in the Tarahumara Tribe. But figuring that was not feasible, he opted for the Five Fingers instead. And what do you know? F is trail running at least 3 times a week! With these crazy “gorilla shoes,” as Ayay likes to call them. And he likes it! That is how life-changing the book was for him.

As for me, I read the book and loved it, but it wasn’t exactly life-changing since I’ve always enjoyed running.  However, this book has inspired me get out running even more, and particularly on trails. I have found even more joy in running, I’ve been increasing my mileage, and I’ve been shifting my fitness focus back to running. For the first time in years, I’m training for a half-marathon again. Following the half-marathon is a 65 mile relay race called Are You Tough Enough, which I’m not…yet. I suppose Born to Run is inspiring me to get tough…running tough! Furthermore, the idea of running an ultramarathon isn’t all the crazy to me anymore.

Our friend B, an extremely talented and amazing dancer and non-runner, also read the book. Her words summed it up perfectly: That was a great book, but I feel like I’m denying my destiny as a human being by not running.

There you have it. Now go out and read the book and then go for a run, because after reading the book, you’ll understand why we were all born to run!

F's Five Fingers aka Gorilla Feet

Trauma in the Mountain

Outside of Space Mountain, Tomorrowland, Disneyland. My bro, with CT, comes staggering out of the exit. CT was all smiles while my brother looked both nauseous and dizzy.

“You got any Advil?” he asked.

“You couldn’t handle Space Mountain? Really?” I said.

My brother and CT took the girls to Dumbo while F and I made our way into Space Mountain. I can’t handle rides that spin around and around (like the teacups, Dumbo, and carousels) but roller coasters…I love roller coasters. Oh, wait. I haven’t actually been on a roller coaster since I was about 14 years old. But I loved them then so this’ll be great!

As F and I happily made our way through the Space Mountain tunnels, I didn’t even think about the fact that I get motion sick in cars, boats, and even while swimming laps. Believe it or not, but I even get motion sick when I turn my head too quickly. But why would that have anything to with how my mind and body would respond to Space Mountain — a roller coaster that twists, turns, and whips around almost entirely in the dark? Silly me.

Within 5 seconds of the ride, while climbing the “mountain” surrounded by bright flashing lights, I started getting motion sick. I clutched F’s hand as we neared the top. I peeked over the side to see little “stars” above and below us, way below us. Oh dear god. What did I get myself into?

We started our descent, whipping around this way and that, up and down, left and right. Oh god. When will this be over? Zooming past all the little stars was making me dizzy so I had to close my eyes which, of course, made things worse. With my eyes closed, I couldn’t help imagining myself in an airplane (my LEAST favorite place of all places) plummeting to its doom. Oh fuck. Get me off this thing. I was panicking. I couldn’t breathe. I was nearly in tears. Ok, I thought. What do I do when my airplane hits turbulence? I go to my lamaze breathing. And that I did until the ride came to its complete stop.

I staggered off the ride and into the daylight feeling both dizzy and nauseous, exactly how my brother looked.  An hour later I was still both physically and emotionally traumatized by Space Mountain. But, things could have been worse.  At least I didn’t pull a back muscle, which I hear is what happened to my father-in-law! Oh, how I’d love to hear that story as well as any other stories about getting one’s ass kicked by Space Mountain!

Seriously. Can’t. Ever. Leave.

I hit Mountain Drive with my i-pod and running shoes this morning. It was several peaceful miles on a rolling, winding, traffic-free road nestled in the foothills and with views of Santa Barbara, the ocean and the Channel Islands. Breathtaking.

Yesterday was More Mesa, a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I jogged along the edge of the cliff watching the ocean waves gently crash onto the shore as pelicans nose-dived into the water. Breathtaking.

The day before that, F pulled on his Vibram Five Fingers, I my Mizunos, and we ran (or really jogged) Jesusita Trail. We crossed the creek several times, jogged through trees, brush, grassy knolls….stopped halfway to take in the view. Yup, rolling hills and there’s the ocean. Breathtaking.

After my run this morning, I texted F: Beautiful run on Mountain Drive. Seriously. Can’t. Ever. Leave.

To which he responded: Yeah…that’s going to be tough.

Boo hoo! Because when it comes to running, there’s no place like Santa Barbara. Seriously.

Taylor or Gaga?

“Can we listen to Taylor Swift?” Ayay asked in the car.

“Sure, which song?”

“The Juliet one. I’m going to sing along,” she answered.

What is it about Taylor Swift that little girls (and this mother) love so much? Her pretty, sweet voice? Her melodic tunes? Her innocent lyrics? Her love of all things sparkly? Whatever it is, my friend Renee and I are ready to take our daughters to the next Taylor Swift concert that comes to town.

“Now can I hear the Bubble-Bubble-Razzi song?” she asked once Taylor’s Love Story ended.

That would be Lady Gaga’s PAPPA-pappa-razzi song.

“And after that one, I want to hear her Paper Gangsta song. Don’t want no paper gangsta…” she started to sing.

Yes, I know. The Gaga concert will have to wait until she’s at least 18 years old. That’s okay for now. Renee and I can hit the Gaga show on our own!

Sweet Miss Swift

Crazy Lady Gaga

So I Wish I Could Dance

I’ve mentioned before how much I wish I could dance. Like really dance. Like dance for a living, and I don’t mean pole dancing. My favorite show is So You Think You Can Dance which debuted in May of 2005, just after Ayay was born. I was a fan from Season 1 and have continued to be impressed by the performances on the show. I have a strong appreciation and love for dance, and for some reason I felt the desire to post my favorite performances from the 2009 SYTYCD season. Maybe these routines will inspire you to get up and dance! Maybe?

Here’s a little “gravity-less dancing:”

Want some Pop Jazz?

Here’s a dose of Contemporary:

And now a sizzling, sexy cha-cha!

Visions of Candy Canes…

I‘m not a cook. I don’t claim to be a cook. I try, otherwise my family would not eat anything except toast, but I’d much prefer to sit back and watch someone cook. And baking — because baking and cooking are 2 different things to me — well, I’m REALLY not a baker.

F’s not only on track to becoming a surgeon, but he is quite a baker. Unfortunately, a surgeon-in-training has very little time to do any baking; however, this holiday month has brought him a more relaxed schedule leaving plenty of time to bake away. Ginger molasses cookies, blondies, fudge ecstasies, straight up fudge…we’ve got it all spilling off our kitchen counters and into our open hands.

I decided I needed to contribute to our sweets table by making one of my favorite holiday treats — peppermint bark. I found Paula Dean’s recipe, along with a demonstration video, and thought, “Holy moly! This is the easiest thing ever. I’m doing it!” Melt white chocolate, add crushed candy canes and a dash of peppermint extract, spread onto cookie sheet, refrigerate and voila! Easy peasy even for me. Or so I thought.

The problem: Candy Canes. Store #1 did not have them. Store #2 had fancy “soft peppermint sticks” but no cheapo brittle candy canes. I was in a time crunch and didn’t want to go to yet a 3rd store. Soft peppermint sticks look like candy canes, though a bit thicker. They HAD to work, right?

As I was melting the white chocolate, I had Ayay work on crushing the “soft peppermint sticks.” I had thrown them in a ziplock bag and gave Ayay a rolling pin, just like Paula Dean did in the video. Bam, bam, bam, bam. Bam, bam, bam. Bam. BAM. BAM. BAM! I looked over at Ayay. The peppermint sticks were exactly the same size as when I gave them to her. But the ziplock bag now had holes from her pounding. F walked in, rebagged the peppermint sticks and tried himself. No luck. He walked out to the garage and came back with a hammer. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. Still not quite working. What the hell are these “soft peppermint sticks?!?!?”

F suggested I go to the drug store and find some cheap brittle candy canes. 10 minutes later I’m frantically searching the aisles of CVS for some simple, cheap red and white candy canes. I found chocolate flavored candy canes, sour candy canes, rainbow candy canes, but no red and white candy canes. Really? Is everyone in town making peppermint bark today?

I headed to Ralph’s, now sweating because all I wanted to do was make a 10-minute treat and I can’t even find the right candy canes! As I was about to give up, and while getting distracted by the gossip magazines dissecting the Tiger Woods scandal, I spotted them. Hallelujah!

I brought home 5 boxes of individually wrapped candy canes, and after unwrapping dozens and dozens of them, they were finally ready to be crushed. 5 minutes later, the peppermint bark was chilling in the fridge.

And now, added to our counter of sweets…4 pounds of peppermint bark. Yup, 4 pounds. What am I going to do with 4 pounds of peppermint bark?!?!?!

Any Interpretations?

While preparing dinner, I could hear Ayay chatting to herself in the living room. Based on her running monologue, she was playing with a bag, a Barbie, and a couple of horses. After a few minutes in the kitchen, I walked around the corner  to find Ayay carefully arranging this scene on our toy chest:

Huh?

I’m not so sure what was going through my four-and-a-half year old’s mind when she set up this arrangement. Any ideas?

My Husband Is Not Tom Selleck

**Please note: This post was reviewed and fully approved by my husband.

While F was in LA completing his trauma rotation, he decided to grow a beard. I thought it looked great, but all the hair was irritating his skin, and he was growing tired of getting food stuck in it, so he decided to shave it off. While he was shaving, he wanted to see what he would look like with just a mustache. I’m not one who gets easily disgusted by my husband, at least not physically. He really is an attractive 30-something who keeps himself clean, tidy and well-dressed. However, when  he walked into the room with his mustache, I immediately cringed, turned away and felt a strong desire to puke. I couldn’t even look at him! Here, take a peek:

Ugh. I just cringed again. I can’t even look at it!

F posted the above picture on his Facebook profile page with the following status: F Bahnson wants to know where the ladies at. And if anyone’s selling, I’m in the market for an ‘82 Trans Am, or a Firebird if the price is right.

And some of the comments he received from his friends in response to his posting included the following:

Hey man–I think I know someone who knows a place where we can find somebody who’ll hook you up. Hit me up on my cellie!

Good heavens, man.

wow!!! im speechless

you should definitely be wearing v-neck t-shirts. if something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right, right?

And my personal favorite:  u totally look like a murderer. no offense. a bad murderer too. not just a one time kind of a murderer. if u get that car that will definitely complete the look!

Thank goodness he shaved that thing off. No offense to men with mustaches. Tom Selleck wears it well as does one of my high school English teachers. (Shout out to Mr. Scanlon!) But F…well, the mustache doesn’t really work for him. I mean, would you trust this man with your life, or your children?

Surgeon turned criminal?

Dreams of My Daughter

Yesterday, F and I were talking about some of the female surgical residents in his program when Ayay asked, “Girls can be doctors?”

“Of course! Your Nana Joy is a doctor. You can be a doctor if you want to be,” I said to her.

“No,” she answered. “I’m going to be dancer!”

“That’s great. Follow your heart. You can be anything you want to be.”

“No…I just like to think about pretty stuff.”

Future Dancer and Lover of Pretty Stuff

You gotta love what goes on in the minds of 4-year-olds!