trick or treat, smell my feet

Today, the lady who was driving backwards down the one way street stopped in the middle of it and rolled down the window when she got to where I was walking.

She was in a car with a bunch of rowdy costumed kids in the back seat. Cars were honking at her because she was driving backwards down the one way street. An old lady who was trying to park was shaking her finger at the wrong way driver.

I was walking down the street with my own bunch of rowdy costumed kids, taking them out for an after school snack.



The backwards lady had a big giant pink wig on and when she got to me she rolled down the window and said something like "it's official crazy day" and sort of waved her arm towards her back seat rowdiness and over towards my band of goblins and at the old lady.

And I laughed and agreed.



I'm going to bring a few glasses of wine in my travel mug while we go trick or treating tonight. And I'm going to eat some chocolate too. And act all crazy and stuff.

Down The Rabbit Hole

Our house looks like Morgan's team tent.



Last night, after we got home from Santa Cruz, we were trying to get the kids to help unpack the car and bring all the stuff up the stairs to the house. But the 10 year old disappeared into the bathroom for 15 minutes and the other one followed me up and down the stairs empty handed while stating her reasons for not helping.

I'm on strike she said.

I want to be like a normal kid who goes to birthday parties and watches cartoons and plays in the yard and sleeps in and eats lunch at her friend's house or does nothing and blah, blah, blah.

I'm sick and tired of this cyclocross stuff getting in the way. It's never ending. I'm not helping you.

I'm not helping you because this is my way of protesting she kept saying.

And then she told me how at one point during the day she'd fallen asleep in one of the camp chairs under the team tent and woke up to see people wandering around her, dressed up as crazy things and how she couldn't remember where or who she was.



I was confused she said.
Maybe you had too much candy and soda today, I said.
Yeah, maybe so, she said.

My race was confusing. I'd only done a one lap pre-ride/warm-up. And it had been as princess Leia, in a giant polyester robe with go-go boots that weren't clipless. I slid around a lot.



So I was a bit too careful on all the technical stuff for the first lap and a half. And then on the back part of the route on the pavement, on the 3rd lap, my back wheel flatted. I initially tried to keep riding on it, but it was too hard and slippery and slow so I got off and shouldered the bike and ran and ran and ran.



And racers said hi as they were passing me by. And some crazy pirate in red hot pants yelled at me to get back on my bike.

People were cheering at me to run faster all along the route and finally I got to a place where I could see my mechanic off in the distance and I began yelling his name. And then everyone was yelling his name. I saw him spin around and around in circles, confused for a little while until he realized why everyone was chanting his name.



He ran over, we switched wheels and he gave me a kiss and I was off. And then I just raced myself silly and alone for 3 more laps in order to get my $30 worth.

After my race someone handed me a beer in a Peets coffee cup and told me to drink it. I drank it so fast that I got a little buz. And then I had another.



I played mechanic when Morgan rolled his tire during his first race. He swapped out a lap on his single speed and then I swapped out my front wheel to replace his rolled front and then we did a pretty smooth bike swap back to the geared lobster and off he went.



And then Jon flatted during his race, so we swapped my front wheel onto Jon's bike and off he went.



And then George flatted during his race, so we swapped my front wheel onto George's bike and off he went.



We were swappers.

I have no idea what happened during Morgan's second race. I was drinking more beer and dozing on the grass in the sun. Good thing the 10 year old is getting pretty good at handing out water to his dad.

I don't think anyone flatted during the costume race.



And now here I am back at work, out from the rabbit hole, trying to act all normal and stuff.

It's Not About the Hair

Everything's looking pretty good for my costume for Sunday's race except for the hair. I may have to ditch the wig and just use a lot of hair spray. The wig looks like a giant toupee' when it's on the helmet.

I'm not a sew - er. And I'm not very creative. In fact, I'm downright un creative and really kind of lazy. Sewing takes a lot of time and patience and persistence.

My mother used to stay up late the last few nights before halloween, hand making and sewing costumes. Not me. I order them online at the last minute and then we have to pay for 2 day shipping. And then my kids have anxiety about whether or not they'll make it in time.

This year I ordered two of the same costumes for the 10 year old. But not on purpose. I guess I forgot I ordered one a few weeks ago to ship ground. And then I ordered another one a few days ago to ship 2-day. It was confusing to have the second one arrive. But then I realized what I'd done.

And of course, they're non-returnable.

I think I may have done the same thing with Lulu's wig - ordered two of the same without remembering. Although neither of them have arrived yet. We thought the second soccer head was the wig and when she opened it and saw it was the soccer head, she shook it at me and said WHAT IS THIS?



Maybe the extra soccer ball head will fit over Morgan's helmet and he can wear it on Sunday.

First Times

The first time I got high was the summer between junior and senior year in high school.

I was sitting in my dad's car at the top of a hill overlooking the suburbs of Concord, California. My friend Arnel and I had taken the car out without my dad knowing and Arnel was getting me high.

In fact, all that summer I'd been taking my dad's car out without him knowing. It was his prized possession, a blue, 1966 convertible mustang.

My father often had 4 or 5 cars sitting around our house in various states of dis-repair. My daily driver was either the two tone mercury station wagon or the green pinto, depending on which one wasn't broken - both disgusting and embarrassing in my eyes.

Dad was working nights and traveling a lot that summer and frequenting neighborhood bars. My dad was an alcoholic. He'd come home around 4 am or so after a night of being on call and drinking and head up to bed around 5 or 6 am. I could usually count on him sleeping until at least 3 or 4 pm each day which was plenty of time for me to take the car out, go to work, finish my shift, drive around and goof off with friends for a bit and then finally park it back in front of the house - all before he woke up.

That summer I was working at a small department store in Orinda, in the children's department. It was a good way to keep my mind occupied and off of a boyfriend who'd recently dumped me just a few weeks before the end of the school year.

Each morning before leaving for work, I'd check in on my dad to make sure he was asleep and then make my way downstairs and outside.

Once outside I'd quietly open the door to the car, sit down in it, push the clutch in, release the gear, release the brake and then put my left foot out of the drivers' side door onto the ground. Slowly I'd scoot the car backwards out of the driveway and turn it and maneuver it so that it was ready to roll down the hill. Once in position I'd get out and push against the door and window frame while running and steering with my right hand and then quickly jump in as it would start rolling down the hill. And then I'd quietly shut the door and coast it, engine off, down the street to the bottom of the hill.

At the bottom of the hill as I'd swoop into the right hand turn, I'd pop the clutch out and the engine would ignite and off I'd go, car top down and hair flying in the wind. I'd make my way around the next block and circle around by my ex boyfriend's house just so he'd be sure to see and hear me in my convertible and then off I'd go to work.

On the weekends that my dad travelled, I was free to sneak the car out whenever I wanted. Mom didn't pay much attention to what I was driving that summer - she seemed to have enough going on with trying to get my dad to move out of our house and dealing with my brother and his antics.

The night my friend Arnel called me, my dad was out of town and the rest of my family was no where to be found so I hopped in the mustang and coasted down the hill out of habit.

Arnel wanted to know if I wanted to go drive around with him. I knew he had a crush on me, so I figured I'd at least get a few beers out of it and maybe some nice complements.

I drove over to his house, picked him up and we drove around his neighborhood for a while sharing a beer. Let's go up to the look-out he said we can park and look at the view or something.

Ok I said and I drove us up there.

We parked and put the car top down. It was a warm summer night. We sat there for a while talking and drinking and making fun of people at school.

Want to get high? he asked me.

High? I said.

Yeah, he said. You know, smoke pot? And he pulled his pipe and lighter out of his pocket.

I've never smoked pot before I said.

He lit the pipe and inhaled and passed it over to me. Don't worry. Just breath it in like you're taking a big deep breath he said as he was exhaling the smoke. I took a deep suck off the pipe.

I don't feel anything I said.

Just wait a minute he said and he took a few more hits.

I couldn't feel anything. So I took a few more hits. And then he took a few more hits. And still nothing was happening.

Are you high? he said.
No, I said. Are you?
Yep, he said. I'm high.
I don't get it I said.
I can't believe it's not working on you he said.
Smoke some more he said. And so I did.

We sat in silence for a little bit, looking at the lights of the suburbs. I was waiting for something profound to happen. Some sort of hint or something so that I could tell that I was truly and really high. I wanted to feel it.

Are you high? he asked again.
I don't think so, I said.

Here, let's try this instead he said. And as he started to put his hand back into his pocket he instead slipped it into the front of his pants and unzipped himself and before I knew it, his johnson was sticking out.

WHAT's THAT? I said laughing.

What do you mean what's that? He said. You know what it is. Let's try it out he said.

But I couldn't stop laughing. It was the biggest weiner I'd ever seen. Not that I'd seen a lot of live weiners at 16, but I'd seen enough pictures to know that it sure was a big one. And it'd seemed to come out of nowhere. And I was confused about why it had come out of nowhere so fast and so big.

I couldn't stop laughing.

And so he zipped up his pants and took the pipe back and lit it and then passed it to me and I took another hit and then I was high. And we finished the beer we were sharing and talked some more and then I drove him back home and dropped him off at his house. And I went home and parked the car in the driveway.

And that was the first time I smoked pot and got high and saw a big live weiner.

That fall Arnel and I went to homecoming together and we got high and watched my ex-boyfriend slow dance with some math student with blond hair while we stood around laughing and drinking fruit punch.

Arnel never showed me his weiner again.

And this past year my dad told me that all those times that I'd been sneaking out his old mustang, he'd known I was doing it. He could hear it start up each time as I rounded the corner at the bottom of the hill. And sometimes if he heard me go out the front door he'd even get up and look out the bedroom window and watch me quietly push it out of the driveway and sneak away from him.

My Little Pony

It's like being in a tormented love affair, doing this cyclocross thing.



Some days I race and finish feeling glorious and giddy and in love. And other times I race and finish feeling overwhelmed and a little sad and confused.

It's so up and down. He loves me, he loves me not.



I can't keep starting in the back. That call up stuff is cool and all when you get called up, but between the 10 B's and the 10 master's, there were 2o women up there. And so the rest of us were like little beggar children vying for crumbs behind the royalty.

Alms for the poor please.



On the first lap my first trick was a pole dance. I saw it there, right after my re "mount" from the barriers and I felt an urge to shimmy right up to it. I heard Lulu somewhere out yonder saying something like she should get off that pole.

Get off it momma!



Who rides into a pole going 5 miles an hour? And how does that course tape get so wrapped around the handlebars so fast?

That was a course for a little power engine, like a clydesdale maybe. I think I'm more of a little pony or maybe a gazelle or a baby giraffe or something. Or maybe a flamingo.

A flamingo with crazy eyes.



So the next lap comes and I race around and around and the next trick I perform is the "upside down, my little pony" trick. It's where I'm almost up one of the hills, up and up... and then I fall side ways and slide a bit on my back with my feet still attached and bike above me.

No stopping, I hear a racer behind me say.

Really? I think to myself. Because that was my "upside down, my little pony" trick and I did it to try and distract you.



There I was, my little pony, all upside down and stuff.



And then the next lap comes. And I race around and around some more and Katrina, the VeloBella with whom I've been trading places with at the last few races, does an endo in front of me and it looks uncomfortable.

And I kind of slow down and ask if she's alright and she says no. But then she hops right back on her bike and takes off more determined then ever and she gets smaller and smaller as she churns away from me on that damn asphalt straight away.

Hmm, I think to myself. She knows that my little pony trick too. But this time, I was the one who fell for it.



Well shit.

And then the next lap comes and I'm barely churning and starting to crack and weaken because I can feel the love affair slowly ending with each pedal stroke. And I can hear my name, but I can't see who's calling me. Where am I, who am I? Why yes, I'm a little pony. And why yes, I think it's the course who's calling me. Yes, it is! It's saying my name over and over. And it's saying PEDAL, PEDAL harder!



But then I realize that it's Aron, from Scycip.

And then the next lap comes and I get passed some more and then it's over. And the course spits me out and I roll over to the bushes. And the love affair is over for the week, until next Sunday when we'll fall in love again.

And sure as clockwork, when I get back to the tent, someone hands me a beer.

Flair

Yesterday I rode my cross bike at lunch after the rains and while no one else was out. I went through the middle of all the mud puddles and slid around a lot and coasted down all the hills really fast, not worrying about hitting any hikers. The trails were empty. It felt good. It cleared my head a little.

---------------------------------------------------

I'm flying overseas in a few weeks. 15 hours on a plane sitting in coach so I can work in an office for 3 days and then head back on the plane for another 12 hours. And they're giving me a hassle about upgrading to business class using miles. I think we spent all day yesterday trying to get it resolved, faxing stuff back and forth and trying to communicate in different languages and still I'm on a wait list.

I'm wondering how many sleeping pills will get me through a flight to Asia in coach. I'm tall, with long legs. If it were for pleasure I probably wouldn't mind. But it's making me kinda cranky right now.

In our overseas office, they take spin classes. Apparently they do 2 back to back. They're going to take me to a few classes. And then they go out for drinks after class. It's all ass backwards. They're all like 20 something. I'll be barely trying to keep up. And we'll be working nights, not days.

----------------------------------------------------

I'm also cranky because one of my sister's kids, the kid who was hanging out with my kids at my mom's house last weekend, has lice. My mom called me last night to tell me this.

So far we're clear, but...

My kid and my sister's kid slept in the same bed last weekend. Then my kid came home and was wearing my Halloween wig around the house. And then I was wearing it trying to get it to fit under and over my helmet. And then she was wearing my big down coat and using it as a cover for her head and body while we were at soccer practice yesterday.

My kids had lice a year ago. It was the same scenario. My sister called me and said, my kids have lice, check your kids and sure enough, my kids had them too.

God damn it.

So you wash every pillow and blanket in the house. You put all the stuffed animals away in a big bag for a few weeks. You wash all the pillow cases every single night. You wash heads in a special soap for 3 weeks, blow dry heads and comb out and good god, it all happens during cyclocross season when you already have 50 pounds of laundry to do.

It's like an assembly line. You pack it all up in giant green garbage bags and put them on the front deck and they wait to be washed.

Last year I got rid of a few bags without the kids knowing. The 3 giant bags with stuffed animals just sort of disappeared. They didn't notice for six months. I pretended not to know what they were talking about.

What? What bear with a red hat and apron? I don't remember a bear. Are you sure that wasn't Meika's?

---------------------------------------------------------

Morgan is "carnival lead" for the school carnival on Saturday. Tonight I'm organizing $950 worth of prizes that all cost like .05 each. And there's live goldfish and balloons to be blown up and booths to be set up and snow cone machines and giant bouncy tents and he's getting all wacky and stuff.

I imagine it's somewhat like putting on a bike race. Things are all crazy. It's crazy time.



----------------------------------------------------------

We went on a tour of Jamba Juice Corporate yesterday.

My friend Eric, works as a supply chain manager at Jamba corporate. They were having an "open house" so he invited me and my kids to go with his kid. I picked up all 3 kids from school and we headed down to Jamba Juice Corporate.

They were testing a new flavor. So they instructed all the employees to go outside in the front of the buildiing to test it. And there was a giant truck with music blasting and they were handing out smoothies and dancing and laughing and I just stood there sucking on my smoothie watching people with my big VISITOR sticker on.

Some people were wearing flair on their t-shirts. T-shirts that said "Jamba Juice" in embroidery on the left chest and flair. One guy had a bunch of flair on his hat. Nice flair I said to him as we walked by.

And then we went inside and had a tour. And we went in a special room where scientific people were mixing stuff and wearing white coats and we did more tasting and then watched an uplifting movie with loud music in another room and there was talk of "brand awareness" and "achieving success" and "living free" and people climbing mt. everest and winning marathons and surfing and stuff.



During the tour I noticed that all the meeting rooms had names of fruits and were painted on the inside to match the fruit.

There was even a room called something soothing like "blueberry oasis" where you were only allowed to go in and relax. You weren't supposed to do anything in it - well, no working type stuff anyway. You could listen to music if you wanted or talk or dance or whatever. Hmm I thought this kinda reminds me of our studio at work.

And then we went downstairs and made our own smoothies in the "employee smoothie making room".




By then I was a little overwhelmed with all the "corporate fun" so I just sat in the corner and watched. And Lulu gave me a little bit of hers.

On the way home, Sam got a really big stomach ache and almost threw up. It was a "window open, head hanging out" kind of ride. Too many smoothies? I asked. Yeah, I think the 6th one is what did me in he said. He wanted to skip soccer practice, but I made him go.

Today at work, while my office mate and I were playing kick ball in the empty space across the hall with the exercise ball, he chastised me for telling him how happy they all seemed at Jamba Juice corporate. I was excitedly telling him about how the whole company went outside to dance and taste new flavors and the blueberry room and the snacks and how it was like a pep rally or something.

There's no way they're that happy, he said. I wish we did stuff like that here, I said.

Come on, he said. You wouldn't last a month there.

Colors

We went up to Ashland, Oregon for a few days over the weekend.

We went for a wedding and of course we brought our bikes. And we rode the morning of the wedding with the groom. He took us on a nice ride. I think he felt better afterwards. It was like a little shot of whiskey for him before the ceremony.

The colors were amazing. We don't have leaves or trees like they have up there. They're very vibrant. And the dirt, so sticky and tacky. We climbed something like 2000 feet for 7 miles and then hit the top, turned onto some swoopy single track and were back at the bottom in what felt like a couple of seconds.



And the wedding was fun and beautiful. It's always fun to meet the families of people you spend time with - and see where they come from and why they are who they are. I left feeling really lucky to be part of their lives. They're such wonderful people.

We met them through the Thursday night ride.



Sunday we drove home. We stopped in Yreka. We called information and tried to find the YrekaBakery. Morgan wanted a picture or a t-shirt from it. But it doesn't seem to exist.

We stopped in Weed and had lunch and I thought about buying a t-shirt that said something like "I Love Weed, California", but I don't know. Can you still wear that kind of thing when you're a mom who's 40 with kids? I think the only place I could wear it would be at a cyclocross race. Definitely not at the kid's school.

We stopped in some other place for petrol and I had a milky way and Morgan had some Jim Beam beef jerky. And of course we had pringles. Whenever we go on road trips we have pringles. It's a tradition.

And then we went home

Driving and Driving and Driving Some More

There are eight blog drafts just sitting around that I can't get myself to post for one reason or another.

One is about fog. One is about spray painting my dad's vw bug blue in high school. One is about insomnia. One is only titled Martha and it has no story written. One is about how my kids never flush the toilets anymore. One is about the time I had to tell my dad that his mom died. One is about an accident in high school and one is about cutting my hair recently.

Yesterday morning I got caught in this. It took me two and a half hours to get to work.

Tomorrow we're driving up to Oregon for the weekend for a wedding. I dropped the kids off at my ma's house a few hours ago. The people who are getting married are mountain bikers. We're bringing our bikes and riding Saturday morning before the wedding. The groom is leading the ride. Sunday we'll sleep in. I'm looking forward to the sleeping in part. And the riding and the drinking and the festiveness and Oregon.

A little while ago a wife called looking for her husband. She was worried. He wasn't answering his cell phone. Honestly, who answers their cell phone when they're on a night ride. But I went down stairs to check. And there he was with tall boy in hand smiling.

I was the interpreter. I relayed the message. Neither wanted to talk to the other.

Your wife's looking for you, do you want to talk to her? I said to him. He's right here, I said to her, into the phone. Nice, she said. Do you want to talk to him? I said. No. she said. Just tell him I was worried. She was worried, I said to him. Tell her I'm here he said. He's right here I said to her.

He's still down there, 20 minutes later. The men folk invited me to stay, but I'm cozy in bed, without any kids around.

They were going to bring chips and tall boys on the ride, so they could be noisy out there on the trails instead of in the garage. But I told them they could come back and be noisy, because I'd probably be up. I had a long, late drive to drop kids off at granny's. I might come down and have a tall boy with you guys after the ride, I said.

Cool, Morgan said. I'll blow the air horn when we get back. That'll be the sign for you to come down and have a beer. And they did. But I stayed in bed, reading.

A few weeks ago, I added this counter thing to the blog. My favorite thing is the part that can tell you what people are searching for when they find your blog.

Here are some of the things people were searching for on google when they found me:

is lauren smelly
wet poo
gs cookie mom
Hot middle aged mommas
"I have to pee so bad"
the truth on how hot dogs are made
lauren
Lauren living in Bella
chicken intestines for sausages
lauren fast
cycling commuting lazy
Antler helmet.
Farting a lot
john tomac bilder
riding ss technique
lauren haughey blogspot


There's also a "hot skin suit" but it's from a Russian search engine.

Someone spelled builder wrong and somehow got my blog.

Those are actual terms/things that people are searching for.

And then they probably click on this blog and are so disappointed.

People are also searching for Tom Boonan's picture. And sometimes they end up on some old post of mine from last year where I feature this. I'm amazed at how many people search for it. But then again, I search for "naked Tom Boonan" sometimes.

I think I've searched on "farting a lot" before too. Or some rendition of it. Maybe it was "cyclists and farting a lot". Not because of me farting a lot, of course. I seem to remember discovering that those carb drinks cause a lot of farting in cyclists. I personally don't drink them as much.

And what does "cycling commuting lazy" really mean to that person who was looking for it?

And why would someone want to know if lauren is smelly?

I Am Super Princess Leia

Cyclocross races that only take 20 minutes to get to are nice.

I'd forgotten how nice they are. We've been travelling down towards Monterey for the past two weeks and usually it's about a two hour drive, but seems like four hours because off all the pee breaks and whining and complaining I do. But 20 minutes, you really just can't beat. It's so luxurious.

Before leaving in the morning yesterday, I decided the hairstyle of the day would be princess Leia style. I wanted to feel like I was going to kick some ass all day. I wanted to be ready for action all day. Ready and primed and in the zone for my two o'clock race.



But a few times I caught my reflection in the car window and It wasn't really the look that I'd been hoping for. I had more of a "standard poodle with fluffy ears" look.

The C women raced around 9:30. I watched and cheered. Morgan's race started around 10 am and I watched and cheered. In the middle of it all I made myself a peanut butter and banana sandwich. I figured the banana would stick to my ribs better. And maybe eating four hours before my race would give me plenty of time to digest. But, you know, I got to socializing and stuff and the sandwich sat and wasn't consumed right away.



Halfway through the sandwich and Morgan's race, I noticed him walking towards us through the course looking sad with a bike with 2 flat tires - which made it a total of 3 flats already for him. But all was not lost, my Leia powers kicked in and I suggested he race the master A race. I'm so smart. And off he went to register for the next race.

As the day went on - many, many people stopped by to give me their advice on the course. I listened to stories about crashes, advice on lines, sides to take, discussions on how much the sand had spread, areas to run and not run on, when not to shoulder the bike, where people were falling, how many flats had happened and on and on and on.

All that talk was making me uncomfortable. I needed to get out there and pre-ride the course and see it all for myself and stuff. And besides, my secret plan involved warming up this time - and of course, the tight bun.

I ripped off my my clothes in the front seat of the cruiser and switched out the Leia hairdo for the tight bun and emerged from the car super skin suit on and all. I was ready for action.


(these 2 shots are by linda)

On my pre-race laps I fell a lot. My Leia powers were in over drive. But by the 3rd lap I was relaxed and riding almost everything, making it up the hills and getting some air in the bowl. I'd gotten all the falls and crashes out of my system. And then I went and did my secret tight bun warm-up along the frontage road, with some sprints and and super power tune ups.

And then we raced.



And I asked myself while I was out there feeling it all working right, why hadn't I started wearing Leia hairdos for peanut butter and banana sandwich breakfast eating time sooner? Why hadn't I ever warmed up for a cross race before now? Why hadn't I been wearing tight buns for warm up and races before now? Why has it taken me so long to figure all this out? Why oh why?

I felt good.




And then it was over.



Afterwards, back at the tent, I felt it coming. The stomach rumbling, the taste in the back of my mouth, the gurgling... And in the middle of talking to someone I excused myself. Excuse me for a minute while I go barf I said. And then all that peanut butter and banana came right back up, into the bushes.

And then someone handed me a beer and I drank it.

Thursday Night Ride Rowdy Nessess

Last Thursday night I made some idle threat to cancel the ongoing after ride party that's been happening every Thursday night from 11pm to midnight for the past year and a half in our garage.

Things felt like they were getting out of control.

Although I'd forgotten about it all this week - until last night when Morgan mentioned it. If I tell everyone that the ride is in jeopardy they'll be quiet afterwards. They're counting on me to keep this going. We can't cancel it.

Ok. I said. Confused about what he was talking about.

At midnight, the witching hour, I become Linda Blair. Good thing my hair is really long. It doesn't really stick up as much as short hair does when you rise from bed at midnight.

Anyway, last Thursday was a blur to me when he first mentioned the issue but then it slowly came back as I was laying there watching Weeds last night.

I actually like Thursday nights. I get the kids in bed and then watch something on TIVO that Morgan usually doesn't like to watch with me and then go read for a bit and fall right to sleep. By 9:30 I'm fast asleep.

Last week the phone rang at 10:30 pm and shook me up out of sleep. What the? Calls that late at night are from those who have either been in an accident of some sort or are sitting in jail needing a ride home.

I was imagining a mountain lion attack of some sort.

Hi, we're out here on the trail and I need you to put the ribs in the oven on low so we can have them when we get back.

I'm asleep I said.
I know, sorry, sorry, sorry.
Just please put the ribs in, ok? he said.
Jesus, come on. I said.
Please? I'm sorry, go back to sleep. I won't call anymore he said.
I have to get up at 5! 5, 5, 5!
Love you, bye he said.

So I got up and turned the oven on low and took the damn ribs out of the fridge and stuck them into the oven to warm and put the foil on top of them and got back in bed and fell asleep.

And then at 11 the garage opens and closes and opens and closes and car doors and beer bottles and the front door opens and slams and oven noises and aHAHAHaha and oh my god and more beer bottles clanking in the recycling.

So when he arrives in at midnight thirty to take his shower, I wake again and I tell him that we need to amend it. Start it at 7 or something and end it at 10 or something. And no more phone calls from the trails and ribs and bottle throwing. And the garage is only allowed to be opened once and closed once. Those are the new rules.


Maybe we could do it in the back yard? he says. And I grumble and go back to sleep. And truly it's forgotten about. And I probably would have totally forgotten about it had he not mentioned it last night.

Happy Anniversary

Yesterday after a morning of getting up at 5:30 am but not leaving the house until 7:15 am and stopping for pee breaks and gas breaks and then getting lost when the google directions had us take an exit off the freeway that was closed, we arrived just a touch too close to Morgan's start time. I think he had maybe 15 minutes to get ready.



I got out of the car and almost threw up because we'd just driven 75 mph on a two lane highway with some near misses in a gigantic safari land cruiser packed with bikes and food and other crap.

All this so we could race for 45 minutes each.

I went up the hill and registered all four of us for our respective races and then pinned and poked Morgan a bit.

With the kids off on their bikes to explore and climb trees and Morgan taking his one lap pre-ride, I went back to the car to make my breakfasts - some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Then it was back up to the course to hang around and watch and take some pictures.

I ate both peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in a matter of minutes and was a little too stuffed. And then over the next few hours I drank a whole lot of water.

The kid's race was right before the women's race and regrettably I missed them starting because I was down at the bathroom taking the 12th of my 15 pee breaks or something like that. On the way back up to the start I could hear them making their way down the side of the course so I pulled over to wait and cheer. And there he was, poor Sam, on the ground whimpering.

I made my way over to him and he moaned something about how he'd crashed on his "you know whats". Which of course a mom tries to be empathetic about, but also doesn't fully understand because us moms have never experienced the getting hit "in the you know whats" pain.

So as he was doubled over I asked him if he was ready to get back on and finish and he shook is head yes and got back on and I pushed him through the sand, hopped on my bike and rode the rest of his race right behind him cheering him on. By the time he got to the finish he was sobbing and thankfully there were a few dads there who understood what he was going through. Ice was magically shoved into my hand (does that really help with the nut pain?) and Sam sat down to rest.


(pic of lulu by rick)

Afterwards he told me that he'd hit the top tube with his "area" and then proceeded to ride down the hill in that position and then hit again at the bottom. A double whammy.

My race seemed short. I brought along some good mojo from some of those Facility kids and tied it in a secret place and it helped. I felt like I was really racing this time instead of just hanging on from a thread way in the back. I was in the mix this time.



The peanut butter and jellies and water came back to haunt me though. First because I think I had one of those peanut butter and jelly mustaches while I was racing. I was so busy peeing and pre-riding that I'd forgotten to check and primp my hairdo and face. I could kind of feel it on my cheeks and so I kept trying to wipe it off on the down hill. It was there, I think, maybe. Like a pirate mustache.

On the 3rd or 4th lap, I tried to pinch Tom Feix's butt while he was standing on the side talking to Rod and getting his strawberry trophy. So on the next lap he gave me some strawberries and I grabbed them and tried to eat one on a very STEEP climb and that one bite just pushed me over the edge. I started gagging and the dry heaves gave way.



I kind of heaved and gagged for the rest of the race.


(these 2 photos by rick too)

And then I finished and immediately proceeded to throw up in the bushes. And it tasted like strawberries and peanut butter and jelly. People pretended not to see me. I pretended not to see me.

Later that night Morgan suggested I google "dry heaves" and "bike racing" like it's some sort of condition. Maybe it's called "soccer mom trying to pretend she's still 30 and racing cyclocross in the B, B, B's and not really training" condition.

On the way home after another bathroom break for the kids in a dirty gas station bathroom, Lulu announced that she'd gone poop 5 times that day (probably because she'd eaten 3 tins of strawberries on her own) and it was then that Morgan turned to me and said "happy anniversary" and I said "oh yeah, that's right! it's today!"