A Winter Reprieve... sort of.

Winter doesn't officially end until March 19, but the recent warm-up allowed Char to take advantage of the weather at a local park on Sunday.

As I chased her around the playground, I noticed that I was colder than I thought I'd be, and I was unusually stiff. I guessed it was just the winter creaks. Little did I know that five hours later I'd be shaking in bed with a 101.5 fever.

Like the slides at the park, life has it ups and downs.

Half Full

Charlotte turned five years old only a few days before kindergarten began, so she's pretty young for her class. It bothers her that many of the students in her class are six years old, or are turning six.

We can't do anything about the August birthday, so I like to make her focus on her half birthday. She doesn't get presents, but I make a big deal about how much she's growing up, and she gets to pick where we eat on February 18. This year she picked the Triple Crown Buffet at Prarie Medows.



If you think that eating at a buffet is gross and that you're above such things, that's okay. You weren't invited to our little party, anyway.

One does not have to miss out on gymnastics just because one is waiting in line.

Charlotte declared that she was now old enough to carry her own plate. She also used the buffet's utensils to fill her plate by herself. This is what five and a half-year-old pride looks like.

What? No meat? Dad is disappointed. Oops! I take it back. I see ham. Carry on.

Hey Char, how old are you, again?

"The thumb means 'half', Dad"

Three Times The Fun

I’m not a big fan of looking at myself, and I really don't enjoy staring at the mirror across from me when I get my hair cut. I just sit there, watching the gray hair clippings pile up in my lap and think, "Brent, you look old." or "Brent, you look old and fat."

I'm also not a big fan of pictures of myself. I remember school pictures being such a source of anxiety. They're just so permanent. You look up, flash your best smile, and the next second is going to be the one image people will have of you at that age for the rest of your life.

Thank goodness driver license photos are destroyed every five years. I recently realized that my license had expired back in July. Luckily, in Iowa, you now have a year to renew without taking the driver's test again (again, talk about anxiety).

Anyway, we took the family down to the DOT where I stood in line, sat, stood in line, sat, and stood in line again. When my time came to stand in front of the "photographer", I stood on the "x", looked up at the "x" on the camera, and screwed my face into its best effort. The gal behind the camera then threw me a curve ball. Without even a hint of humor, she barked, "Smile with your mouth CLOSED!" Surprised, I pulled my face back, gave myself a double chin, and squeezed my lips together.

The flashed popped, the woman yelled "Next!", and Daphne later asked me why I had made such a weird face.

Thanks to the new license design there's not just one of these babies on there, but three! Helloooo, gorgeous!

Now I can't wait for this year's school picture to come in.

That is Super

I've recently picked up my dad's habit of shouting out gas prices when I drive pass gas stations. The difference is, I don't shout in anger.

The gas dashboard light came on last week, so I knew I didn't have time to do much price shopping. I just stopped at the first gas station I saw. I couldn't believe the total amount on the receipt.

I filled my tank to the brim, and I still couldn't break $20. That's unreal.

I didn't think I see a sign for $1.49 a gallon again in my life. I better calculate how much money I've saving on gas and see if I can convert that money into another old pinball machine...

Disheartening

Walking on down to the seventh-grade dance

And I don't know what we're going there for

No one's gonna talk to us, we'll look real silly

Just staring at the gymnasium floor

I'll wrestle the beat

With my two left feet

They'll point and they'll stare

At what my mom made me wear

Tomorrow I'll wake up

Crying and smiling

"Seventh Grade Dance" - Smash Mouth

My high school had a Valentine's Day tradition that was an ego-demolisher disguised as a fundraiser. The home economics department sold cookie tickets to the girls during Valentines week. They could buy a ticket for either a white cookie or a red cookie. They would then write down the name of the boy they wanted to give the cookie to on the ticket. The cookies would be delivered anonymously, so the girls could buy as many as they wanted. Some of the more popular guys would get four or five gifts.

The actual cookies would be placed in the hallway lockers during the last period on Friday. If you opened your locker and found a white cookie, that meant someone liked you. If there was a red cookie lurking inside, it meant someone loved you.

None of the guys acted as if getting cookies meant anything to them, but as we casually walked to our lockers, the question on all of our minds was, "How much love is in there?" 



I felt like a minor league player in the movie Major League. If there was a red ticket hanging in his locker at the end of practice, then that man's dreams of becoming a big league player were over.

Each year I did the same thing. I placed my hand on my locker's handle. I took a deep breath. Then I slowly opened the door. Each year there was the same number of cookies in my locker - zero. Apparently, "Brent" is a hard name to spell.

High school can be a lonely time for some people.

Hitching a ride to the high school dance

And I don't know what we're going there for

The girls are so pretty in their shopping mall fashions

And we're so invisible to them

I feel like I'm in

Some John Hughes film

Like a dream we've all had

Where you can't run too fast

Tomorrow we'll wake up

Crying and smiling

"Seventh Grade Dance" - Smash Mouth

Fast forward that song to 2016. 

I no longer sneer at Valentine's Day cards. In fact, I just got one that I'll probably keep forever.

As for cookies, Daphne's newest hobby is baking.

My locker runneth over.

I hope you will have a Happy Valentine's day, too!

Smash Mouth - Seventh Grade Dance link

A New Favorite

Daphne and I had a date night on Saturday. We went to The Radish in Grimes for dinner. We aren't sophisticated diners, so I can't tell you that you'll like the place as much as we do. I can say that we haven't been disappointed with the food or the service.

The Radish is offering a "Wine Bottle Grab Bag" for a short time, and Daphne thought it would be fun to see what she would get. We were assured that every bottle hidden inside a brown paper bag was worth between 20 and 30 dollars. Daphne waited until we got to the car to open her bag. She was hoping for a nice bottle of red that she could share with her sister. When she opened the bag and slid the bottle out I could see she had a white. "Oh, I'm sorry, babe."

I couldn't see her expression in the dark, but I was surprised to hear her excitement.

"Brent! Look at this wine label!" She laughed, "It's called 'Charlotte's Home'! How sweet is that?"



"That's cool! Of all the bottles you could have picked, imagine being drawn to that one."

"I know. I love it! I'll have it in the summer."

"'Charlotte's Home'. Hmmm. I'm sure Charlotte is home, but I hope she is home and asleep. Let's go home and check."

"Sounds good, I'm tired anyway."

The rest of the drive home was spent discussing how much to pay the babysitter.

That was Me. This is Me.

I used to be a runner.

You don't know how strange it is for me to write that sentence.

The only high school sport I was any good at was track. When I quickly put on my "Freshman 15" (and then some) in college, I ran to lose the weight. I experienced the same weight gain when I moved to Des Moines and rented my first apartment. I didn't know how to use the kitchen, and microwave meals are chock-full of calories. A summer of running trimmed me back down.

It's been 23 years since I've lived in that first apartment, and my typical afterschool routine was to run five miles before going home. It's not impressive. Running just gave me time to sweat and think. I ran with my friend Dawn for several years, and it became a time to sweat, think, and talk.

I eventually stepped up my game and signed up for some organized races. I ran the Dam to Dam 20K nine years in a row. Sometimes my Dam to Dam training extended into the fall so I could run the Des Moines marathon. I've run that race four times.

I wasn't the only runner in our family. Daphne has run the Dam to Dam five times, and she has also run the Des Moines Marathon. We were both members of the Capital Striders running club. We traveled all over central Iowa to run races together. In fact, in most of the pictures of us as a couple, we are wearing bib numbers and finisher medals.

I tried the Chicago marathon in 2007. I was told that if you write your name on your shirt, then the people of Chicago will shout encouragement while you run. That was true. Two or three times per mile I could hear someone yell, "Good job, Brent!" That was very cool.

The rest of the experience wasn't so cool. The '07 Chicago Marathon was a mess.


I was at mile 23 when an ambulance's speaker announced that race was over. I didn't quit, though. I had gone too far for that.

It was so hot and miserable; I was all but walking by the 25th mile. I stumbled past a trio of spectators: two girls and a boy sitting on the concrete curb. The boy looked to be about twelve, but he made eye contact with me and spoke with a voice that was surprisingly mature, "You can do it, Brent. You are going finish." I nodded in appreciation and thought that might have been the most encouraging statement that I had ever heard.

When I crossed the finish line, I announcer yelled at the crowd of runners behind me, "Slow down everybody! This is no longer a marathon. It is now a fun run!" I thought that might be the dumbest statement that I had ever heard.

I ran the Dam to Dam in 2010. Daphne was seven, eight and nine months pregnant during that summer, so she wasn't running. I wanted to be home in case there was an emergency, so I stopped training, too.

Charlotte was born on August 18 (she and Daphne share the same birthday). Two months later, I was sitting in church on the morning of the marathon. Actually, I was stewing in the pew while Charlotte slept in the baby carrier between us. I kept checking my watch and mentally calculating where I'd be on the course if I had been running that day. It almost hurt to miss that race.

I started running again a few months later. I ran the Dam to Dam and the Des Moines Half Marathon in 2011. We all ran Dam to Dam races the next year. Charlotte was old enough to run with the one-year-olds, and Daphne ran the 5K.



Charlotte and I also ran at the Dam to Dam in 2013.

Daphne brought Charlotte downtown on race day so Char could run her race and they could cheer me on, but I knew Daphne would rather have been home with her mother. Deb had been recently diagnosed with cancer, and we didn't know how much time she had left (sadly, it was less than two months.) For the first time, crossing the finish line was an empty achievement for me. Running had become a selfish priority.

I realized that every time I left the house to go for a run, I was leaving Daphne alone to take care of our daughter. Parenting a little one is hard work, and I was literally running away from that responsibility under the guise of keeping myself healthy. I could be gone anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours. And it wasn't like I scooped up Charlotte off the floor the moment that I walked into the house, either. I had to cool down, change clothes, maybe take a shower... None of that was fair to Daphne.

Yes, I was a runner long before I met my wife, and I was still a runner when our daughter was born. But when the world around you changes, you have to change with it.

I walked away from running.

I briefly considered early morning runs, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. It is hard enough for me to get up at 5:45. I can't imagine taking a 4:00 alarm seriously. I know my limitations.

I haven't run in three years. My weight fluctuates, but it's not too bad. My knees feel better than they used to, but when I chase Charlotte up the stairs I can feel it in my legs. They're not as strong as they once were.

Do I miss running? Not really. I miss stopping. I miss that sense of accomplishment when a run is over. The thing is, I could start running again. Daphne usually picks up Charlotte after school. They don't get home until 4:30 or 5. There's plenty of time for me to go for a quick run. I just don't do it. Honestly, that doesn't even occur to me. I'm not a runner anymore.

I plan to buy a tag-along bike for Charlotte this spring, and then the three of us can exercise together on our bikes. Maybe in a few months, I can write a post about being a biker.

Until then, I'll be the guy taking a quick nap on the couch until my girls get home.

I'm cool with that.

Sleddin' on a Snow Day

There's a video in this post, but you might not be able to see it. I don't know why video sometimes appears and then disappears on this blog.

Anyway, here's a picture of Char with the snowman she and Mom made.

This One's for Grandma Betty

Charlotte finished the puzzle that you gave her! She insisted that I take a picture for you, Grandma.