Reporting In

Herro dere. I'm just going to jump in. A better blogger might preface the following with some well-thought out segueway, but if you've been reading me with any regularity at all you know I'm not your better blogger.

I am, however, a blogger better. I can read a blog and tell you with 1-2 months accuracy when said blogger will implode into a steaming pile of cathartic, narcissism-induced "why are we all here" whining. It's awesome.

Ahem. Anyway.

My injury is ITB Syndrome, a.k.a. Runner's Knee. I know this because I googled it and read a lot and I am now the foremost authority on this subject within a 100-m radius. I avoid sports medicine clinics and quacks, er, chiropractors, to keep this title. Now that I have not run for a week we're going to stress my knee out tomorrow with a 12-mile trek. This is exactly the opposite of what is recommended. Optimal treatment is rest and slowly graduating back up to pre-injury mileage.

I am so, so smart. Really.

I've got a race to run in less than 3 weeks and I never ran the 14-miler, people. That's stressful. A 12-miler is planned for tomorrow (see? I'm backing off a bit!) and I'll walk as much as I need to and no, Mom, I won't "run through the pain," as I have been doing.

I'm not really stressed because I have a secret. Wanna hear it? I can walk it if I have to.

Hokay.

At work I created in two days what would have normally taken me two weeks. Focus baby, focus. And a deadline. So I'm feeling good about that. We'll see how it does when it wends its way to production. Whew! Likely it will implode into a fiery ball of production catastrophe. Just kidding. I think.

Weekend will be busy.

AB doing well, R doing well as well.

Yesterday AB came home and casually said the following, not really to anyone, just kinda to herself, obviously repeating something she heard at school.

"'Put out' means you lay down together."

W. T. F. She's three. I pestered her about where she heard that, but she was mum. The day before she talked about Nanny dying and asked if she would die. That got our attention. Very calmly we tried to talk her through life and death without scaring her. She was fine. I was scared. On the way to school she said, "We wouldn't want to keep going into our house! [in the car] That would be bad! We would have to rebuild it." Or some similarly amusing thread where she thought into the future and considered alternate realities. She is so god damn smart.

OK. That's it. Enjoy yours.