It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.

2011 will go down for me as a strangely bipolar year. When it was good, it was very good. And when it was bad, it was horrid. 

On one hand, I feel fortunate to have found two amazing communities in a town that has a reputation for transient and rootless. Junior League of Las Vegas has been a fantastic outlet for me to find like-minded women working to better our valley. It's put me in touch with people I would have never otherwise met and I love, love, love the fact that we really are making a difference. It's exciting, it's inspiring, and it's allowed me to use my (non-mommy) brain again. I'm proud to say I've volunteered over 500 hours this year alone to Junior League. I'm exciting to see what the new year brings and what new challenges the organization takes on, and I'm very thankful to be a part of it.

The second community is my little running/boot camp group. It may seem weird to call them a community, since I barely know most participants by name (and subsequently have given them nicknames in my head like "Grunting Girl" and "Overenthusiastic Guy"), but I really appreciate their presence. The boot camp and running team have changed the way I look at myself and the world around me. I never thought a fitness challenge would yield such amazing returns, but it's helping to push me in other areas, too. I feel that I've grown as a person this year, in terms of self-confidence and ability, and shrunk in the areas that count the most: arms, waist, thighs. (haha). Hooray for that.

On the flipside, however, 2011 was a game changer of a year. Losing my dad is still something of a mystery to me. It still hasn't quite sunk in. I'm not sure if it's the alacrity in which the events moved - six weeks from diagnosis to death - or just the fact that I cannot accept the world is without him. I don't know. It's made me reevaluate everything in my own life, from my spiritual beliefs to the grief process to various healthy and unhealthy behaviors, and I've come up with more questions than answers. If anything, I think I've learned to live with the fact he's not here, although it's easiest to pretend it didn't happen. If and when that denial ends, I'll let you know. But for now, it's the only way I seem to be able to function.

I also lost some critical friendships this year. I'm still not sure what happened, but after he passed, I just kind of shut down. I fully admit that I was a crappy friend to many people; it was like the perfect storm of events took over and I literally stopped returning phone calls/emails/texts. I take full responsibility for that. My job in Junior League (which started in early June) was broadsided by my dad's passing in mid-June. I threw myself into activities to cope during most of the summer, and by then, Scotty decided that I could not talk on the phone for longer than five minutes whenever he was up. With his nap times taken over by work, I simply did not have the time nor energy to return calls. The hands-free law that went into effect in Nevada on Oct 1 put an end to me talking while driving, and so, I became a really bad friend. To those who have been patient with me, thank you. To those that are fed up with me, I'm sorry. Maybe the new year (and preschool!) will be different.

With that said, I've gotten various questions from people who have mentioned that I have time to write in the blog, yet lack the time to call them back. This is a deliberate choice on my part. Writing this blog has literally become oxygen to me. When I started, I didn't realize how helpful it would become. Now, 2+ years in, I make time to write because not only do I enjoy it, but it helps me to vent, organize, get through, or extol on whatever is going on in our lives. It does not - and should not - serve as a way of keeping in touch with friends, but when it does, it's helpful.

So I'm going to keep writing into the new year. I don't know what 2012 will bring. For Brian, my guess is more work and more responsibilities (and I promise: some golf. I promise). For Scotty, it brings the beginning of his academic career (I say that mildly sarcastically; the kid is going to make butter and sparkly crafts for an outrageous price-tag, but whatever) and hopefully, potty-training. For me, I'm just going to continue doing what I do: writing, running, volunteering, and trying to be a good mom/wife/cook/hostess/life organizer.

Thank you to everyone who's read the blog this year. I've appreciated all of the feedback, all of the comments, and all of the support. I wish you the best in 2012. Happy New Year!

Okay, as promised, here are some tips for beginning runners. Again, I want to clarify that I am not an expert, doctor, trainer, nutritionist, or even a good runner. I am just someone who started running on January 1 and completed a half-marathon in December. My point? If I can do it, you can do it. It just takes a little bit of courage and a whole lot of will power.

And a couple of packets of Gu. More on that later.

Two minutes on, one minute off

I started running on the treadmill for two reasons: 1.) I wanted to know my speed and 2.) I needed to see a clock. The clock-thing was more mental (i.e. "It feels like I've been running for 45 minutes and it's only been 6 minutes??") but ended up being very helpful. I realized that running a full mile was too much for me, so I broke it down: two minutes running, one minute walking. I did this for ten minutes. The first time doing it, I was so winded I could barely catch my breath. (in my defense, I was also recovering from abdominal surgery six weeks earlier. Or maybe I was just a big marshmallow. The jury is still out.)

Either way, I needed to take it slow.

And as I continued, my two-minutes-on-one-minute-off slowly lengthened. Instead of ten minutes, I stayed on the treadmill (at a comfortable pace, which at that time was about 5.3-5.5 mph) for twenty minutes. Thirty minutes. Once I did it for an hour, and that's when I realized I didn't need the one minute recovery anymore. So I started running five full minutes at a time, then ten, and without thinking, by February I was easily clocking 20 minutes of solid running (5.5-5.8mph). It took about eight weeks to really get a good three miles in there, but again, I wasn't running for distance, just time. And that helped.

Train for something

Once I started logging three miles here, two miles there, my confidence soared. I felt like a serious bad-ass on the treadmill. My legs started to thin out and I carried my shoulders a little bit straighter. By July, it occurred to me that all of my treadmill running should be put to good use and I should do something adventurous. So I signed up for the half-marathon. Obviously, as previously stated, I signed up for the race for bigger reasons (i.e. my dad), but knowing that I had to run 13.1 miles in just under 5 months certainly made me motivated to keep running. December 4th loomed over me like a bad cloud, but I was committed; my $140 was not going to go to waste.

Find Support

This is where good coaches come in. I ran July and August by myself, and realized that I was totally in over my head. I still had not yet conceded that running is a team sport (or how a coach would be helpful), but feeling the pain in my knees and the fear of 13.1 miles looming in front of me convinced me to call up the boot camp instructors and register for their running team.

And in that, I found a whole new community. We received weekly emails that detailed everything from what to eat, how many miles to run per day, and even how to psychologically talk to yourself as the long (and longer) runs started. There is no way I would have ever challenged myself to run 7 miles alone; but when it was on the schedule, I showed up like a dutiful solider. And you know what? I finished first that day. (my friend Andrea, the fastest runner on the team, wasn't there. But I'm not going to focus on that detail). Not only did I finish, but coming in first did wonders for my running confidence. And then as we were leaving, a woman commented to me, "You are just a natural. You have the longest, most graceful stride."

I about fell over. I laughed and told her that was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me. Ever. In my whole life.

We both laughed, but it made me feel like a rock star. And certainly kept me going.

Good Gear is Key

Through the running team, on the first day, I found out my shoes were wrong, my socks were wrong, and even the way I tie my shoelaces were wrong. At the time, I was pretty defensive. Looking back, I realize they were right. And I was wrong. ::sigh::

So I bought new sneaks at a legit running store. I purchased non-cotton socks. I watched carefully as the coach tied my shoes, feeling as helpless as Scotty during the process. And after my initial feelings of uselessness wore off, I found myself going back to buy Gu, running pants (that I like to call my "go-fast pants"), and even a running stick (to roll out sore muscles). The point here? Good gear makes the process a lot more enjoyable. And fashionable, too.

Cross-train

This is where boot camp was key. Hill Day was critical to conditioning, and all of the ab work helped to tighten my core. It didn't usually come into play until after mile 3, but that's when I felt different parts of my body working in different ways. My mid-section literally felt as though there was a corset cinched around it. My breathing evened out and it was no longer one giant exercise in exhaustion. I wouldn't call running easy, but it certainly got easier. And cross-training really helped.

Accept the fact you will have bad days

I had a terrible run in early October. It was awful - I had gone with the group (it was one of those 4:45am runs) and the guy in front set the pace - this crazy 9-minute mile that went on for what seemed like hours. It was still really dark out, so I kept up with the group more out of fear of being mugged in the dark streets of Summerlin than out of the desire to run fast. And when we finished, I was destroyed. It was a horrible experience. My legs hurt, my head hurt, and I was wiped out mentally.

I didn't run for three days after that. And when I finally got the courage to don the non-cotton socks again, I was away for the weekend for a Junior League Conference. Courtney and I dragged ourselves out of the hotel for an early morning run, and I begged her to go slowly. She did, and we ended up doing 3.5 miles. That was all I had in me. I was still too afraid that I was going to feel awful or weak or puke or something. (ironic, considering how the actual marathon went...) But the run went fine and a tiny shred of my confidence was restored.

A couple more runs later proved that yes, I could still do this. A bad run doesn't mean I should quit the sport or give up or that I'm a failure - it was just a bad run. And better runs are right around the corner.

The first mile is the hardest

I love it when people say things like, "I don't even think I could run a mile." I want to say, "Yes, you can - the first mile is the worst!" To me, the first three miles are the worst. You're still working out the kinks and getting stretched out - your shoe doesn't feel right, that lace is bugging you, and why does your knee feel funny? I try to tell myself that the first three miles are basic diagnostic testing - what corrections should I make now in order to avoid injury longer into the run?

What's funny is by mile 5, I just would zone out. Miles 6-9 were consistently my favorite, and that's when I'd get the most work done: what Junior League stuff do I need to think about? What house stuff should I be focused on? What blog ideas can I come up with? What color two-piece bathing suit am I going to rock this summer, once this weight is off and I'm ready to go poolside again? 

By the end of October, I looked forward to my long runs since it felt like one long business meeting in my head. I think I was actually more organized running than not running, simply because I had two hours to myself every week. It was heaven.

                                          *********************

With that said, I hope these tips were helpful. If you have a tip you'd like to share, let me know and I'd love to include it. Or, if you felt some of my tips were wrong/inaccurate, let me know how I could correct them.

I'm excited for the new year ahead...and figuring our which race(s) to sign up for. Just this morning, Courtney pulled me aside at our park date and asked about possible 10Ks and half-marathons. Looks like the fiasco that was the Rock 'n' Roll marathon is fading quickly...and we're ready for Round 2. Weeeeee! Let's lace up the sneaks and get this party started!

Guess what?

I lost 17 pounds this year.

I know, I know...in a year. That equates to approximately 1.7 pounds per month. Agonizingly slow, especially when I was eager to see results. But after a full twelve months, I'm really excited because 17 pounds is significant. It's not twenty, but it's better than fifteen.

I went from this:

to this:

I'm not quite sure why I'm making such a silly pose, but yes Quintin, I look like an X-men.

I'm not to where I want to be yet, though I am thankful to finally be on the right path. I'd like to lose another 10% of my body weight before we ring in 2013 and maybe complete my first full marathon. (maybe...)

My BMI is a healthy 24.2. I can run a nine-minute mile. All of my clothing is fitting much, much better and I've even dropped a size in pants. But most importantly, I feel good. I feel happy, not stressed, and not laser-focused on dieting/food/working out.  I didn't use pills, protein shakes, or meal replacement bars - just good ole portion control, better food choices, and exercise. There were no programs, websites or apps - just me, my sneakers and a whole lot of apples (my new favorite food).

So if you are like millions of Americans, getting ready to make some healthier resolutions for the new year, let me share with you what worked for me. Maybe this will be helpful, maybe not, but I'm excited to share my progress.

It's 80% food, 20% exercise

This was startling to me. If you are not going to change your diet, you will not lose weight. Or at least, it will be very, very difficult to do so. This occurred to me in October, when I realized I was working out practically every day (as evidenced by our giant piles of laundry) and the fact I was waking up at 4:45am to get my miles in - and then heading to boot camp at 6am. I didn't lose one stinkin' pound that month. I don't believe the "my body was storing fat" theory - no, it wasn't overexercising, it was the massive portions of Kit-Kat bars and Almond Joys I was shoveling in my mouth on a daily basis. (Mmm, Halloween candy.) It dawned on me I was eating an extra 2,000 calories a day in mindless mini-bars, negating any level of fitness I had done earlier. Subsequently, the scale stayed the same. I omitted the Halloween candy and boom - five pounds gone. Instantly.

Eat for performance, not weight loss

This was a tough thing for me to learn, too. If you told me I couldn't eat potato chips so I would lose weigh, I would fight you all day and night to get those chips back. And then probably eat them when you weren't looking and then feel badly about it.

But if you said I had to run say, 10 miles, in the morning, guess what? Those chips sound downright awful. The salt, the bloating, the greasiness of it - yuck. I would much prefer to eat light - and healthy - because of the run. It's kind of weird mind trick to play on yourself, but it worked for me. And it made choosing better foods that much easier.

Food is mood

Going along the previous idea, I realized there is a big difference between eating what I think is good versus eating what is good for me. Yes, the cupcake is delicious - for about 3 seconds - and then I'm left with a minor tummy ache, a sugar high (and subsequent crash), and the guilty feeling of eating crappy food. It takes an enormous amount of maturity (at least, for me) to recognize that this food (say, almonds) both tastes good AND is good for me. And then to have the strength to pick the almonds over the cupcakes while telling myself, "I want to be in a good mood, not a bad one." It's hard in the short-term, wonderful in the long-term.

I can't remember who said it, but I remember reading that eating a giant meal is anything but transcendental. It's fun while it lasts, but then you are left feeling stuffed, gassy, bloated and uncomfortable. When you think of it that way, it really takes the fun out of it. So why do it? A fancy dinner out every few months is one thing, but every week? You are just left with all of the above symptoms...and a growing tummy.

So what is transcendental then? For me, the best feelings I've had have been finishing Hill Day or running 12 miles without stopping. Now that is euphoric. In a lot of ways, you are choosing how you want to feel by picking one behavior over another. Want to feel good? Go run three miles. Want to beat yourself up for the rest of the day and feel gross? Eat the cupcake.

Take it one day at a time

I have to repeat this to myself a lot. Today is the only day that counts. I'm not going to stress about Saturday night or what I'm going to order at the movies (popcorn? Diet soda? Splurge or no splurge?). I just need to worry about today - lunch, dinner, what have you - and make the best decisions in the moment. That's it.

And no one meal is going to make you fat. It's a whole bunch of bad choices combined together that causes a person to put on ten (or more) pounds. You won't take the weight off with one meal; you won't put the weight on with one meal. It's a pattern and a history that gives you results. Make today count.

Find something you really like to do

Who knew six months ago I would really dig running hills with a bunch of strangers before the sun had even risen? Or rolling around in bird poop on a basketball court, doing the millionth "burpee" or Harley hold of the morning. (don't ask). But I do. I LOVE it. I love boot camp. It's challenging, it's a phenomenal workout, and everyday is different. I love, love, love it. And right now, I miss it.

Since boot camp has been on break, I've been bored to tears at the gym. I hate feeling cluttered down with stuff - my towel, magazine, water bottle, iPod that I schlep over to the cardio area. And wearing cotton socks again is not that exciting. I'm looking forward to the days where we are running the Super Loop again after completing a circuit of death carts. See? Fun.

But as my friend Sandy said, as I attempted to hard-sell her on joining boot camp, "Kim, I think you and I work out very differently." She's more of a "camp out on the elliptical with a good TV show on" kind-of gal. And that's cool. My friend Tara is the same way - but she loves to get lost in a good book. The fact is, whatever causes you to break a sweat - death carts, Hill Day, or books on the treadmill - do what you like. And do it a lot. :-)

I hope this was helpful to some of you. I'm going to post my (very, very) beginner tips on running tomorrow. It's never too late to get started!

Disclaimer: I am not, nor do I pretend to be, a physician, nutritionist, dietician, trainer, or even vaguely athletic. Therefore, my advice should be taken with a grain of salt and is provided mainly for entertainment purposes. If it does help you, that's wonderful. If it doesn't, this disclaimer prevents you from taking legal action against me. Thank you.

I have a million things swirling in my head, but I'm not sure how to get them all down on paper.

Let's make a list. Helpful, no?

-- Scotty is better. He's back to his normal Bear self, which includes yelling, "Mom has boobs!" to anyone that will listen at the grocery store, demanding to be picked up ("Up! Up! UPPA!") when I've got my hands full, and demanding to play chase with Da-da the minute he hears the garage door. In other words, he's 100% again.

-- Brian's arbitration is over, at least for now. I have a husband again. This is a wonderful thing. We celebrated Saturday night with cocktails and dinner on the Strip. It was a much, much, much need adult-night out.

-- Our damn Christmas cards are finally done. For the record, I hate Christmas cards. I wasn't even going to send any out, and then last Thursday, I decided to resurrect Christmas and put in a super-rush-order to Tiny Prints. The stupid cards probably cost more than Scotty's tuition to preschool. And then I realized I ordered square cards, which require additional postage, so Brian had to make an emergency trip to the post office. And after all of that, the cards look a lot like drink coasters. So please, after you receive yours, please feel free to set your beverage on it as well. Double purpose. And then I'll feel like I got my money's worth.

-- I am losing a dear friend this week. Sarah O, one of my favorite people in the whole world, is packing up forever and heading to the great snowy state of North Dakota. While I'm happy she'll be with her husband and kids again, I'm selfishly very sad for myself that such a good friend will be so far away. But thanks to the wonders of social media, I'm hoping we are still able to stay in good touch. Miss you, Sarah.

-- And finally, I accidentally clicked on a link on my blog prior to writing this and ended up in June 2011. I started reading through everything that happened and realized that my dad really isn't going to be here for Christmas. I just honestly still can't believe it. I'm so sad for my mom, my sister, and our whole family. I just can't believe it. Living out here is fairly insulating, but then there are the occasional moments when it becomes real. And it's crushing.

So with that being said, I'm going to take a few days off from writing. I'm just ready for a bit of a break. I'll be back next week.

Happy holidays, friends. :-) 

I happened upon this article on Tuesday night. :

_
Coincidentally, this was also the day Scotty and I embarked on our trifecta of errand running, in an effort to escape the cleaners. While at Target, I ran into someone from my running team, and she described the events in the article almost word-for-word.

The part about "compression kills" gave me chills.

The group that ran this marathon is so stinkin' lucky no one died. This whole thing could have been a massive, massive disaster.

Needless to say, I will never be running another Rock'n'Roll marathon again.

BIG thanks to Stesha (and her amazing technical skills) for showing me how to make links clicky! This is a a great day, indeed.

While I  have remained house-bound this week, part of me has not.

Looks like the Cool-Whip Container is headed to Atlanta.

http://www.lvrj.com/news/tainted-water-ruled-out-as-cause-of-marathon-illnesses-135697653.html

(Stesha...help! Link me!)

I hear it's lovely there this time of year.

Editor's note: The Bear had another doctor's appointment this am and we've been cleared to rejoin the land of the living come Monday. Oxygen levels were good, no fever, and he seems to be responding well to the new antibiotics. He's a bit aggressive due to the oral steriods and my contact high from the Albuterol still hasn't wore off, but it appears this awful, awful week might finally be over.

Dear Log,

Today is Day 6 of the Sickness. I fear there is no end in sight.

The boy appears to be getting better, but we certainly take one step forward and two steps back. He managed to go all of Wednesday without a fever but without a nap. This does not bode well for my mental health. When your toddler wakes up screaming after fifteen minutes of nap time and you haven't even had a chance to plug the baby monitor in, you know you're headed for a long afternoon.

But not as long of an afternoon as Tuesday. Nap schedule was the same - 15 minutes down, woke up screaming (due to coughing) and since the cleaners were over, we literally found ourselves man (and Mom) without a country. While I'm really happy the ladies did a solid job scrubbing every surface of my home with bleach (including cleaning my coffee pot...?), it's very difficult to entertain a sick toddler when you cannot go to a.) friends' houses  b.) indoor play places and c.) the playground out of fear of becoming a social pariah. So we completed the trifecta of errands (Costco, grocery store, Target) and then had a late dinner out. Imagine my surprise when we returned and the cleaners were still there!  I'm not sure if I should be pleased with their effort or offended at how dirty they found my home. Regardless, it's lovely to be able to see your reflection in the bathroom mirror again.

The Sickness has turned the boy into a Level 5 Clinger. While I'm enjoying all of the snuggling, I've also been rendered useless on the home front. This includes cooking meals, washing dishes, bathing. I know the boy doesn't feel good and nothing feels better than sitting squarely on Momma's hip while watching Super Why! for the 12,000 time that day, but I need to be able to complete certain activities. Like brushing my teeth. Short of strapping the child to my body via duct tape, I plan to research "Toddler Bjorns"...just as soon as I'm able to sit at the computer...alone.

And after the past five days, I'm certain that while healthy toddlers regularly mimic drunk people (incoherent speech, stumbling, excessive displays of emotion), sick toddlers most resemble crackheads coming down from a bad trip. At one point yesterday, Scotty vacillated between throwing books at my face to suddenly being mesmerized with my nose, gently touching it and attempting to lick it while murmuring, "Looooove Moooooom." He is a wild card when ill, and this lack of predictability is starting to wear on me.

Speaking of drug use, watching your child use a nebulizer feels like you are watching them use a hookah. It's very Lost-esque flash forward-y, like I'm being given a glance of my toddler in college one day. I'm not sure if I'm proud or horrified with how easily Scotty puts the nebulizer hose in his mouth and inhales deeply. Once again, I find myself asking, "Am I just a really good mom or is my kid going to smoke a lot of um, things one day?" Needless to say, I've tried to weave in an anti-drug message to the little tyke many times in recent days, in the form of, "Who's ready for dinner? Don't use drugs!" and "Time for bubble tub...don't do drugs!" Let's hope it sinks in.

Likewise, I fear I may have lost my husband to the dark recesses of the legal world. Despite the many important-sounding phone calls he takes at night and mountains of paperwork he schelps back and forth to his car every morning, I secretly believe he is actually working on nothing at all. I believe that the stress of the Sickness has driven him to escape to the quiet, clean solitude that is his office. If I find out "arbitration" is Latin for "afternoon tee time," I will likely kill him this weekend.

And so, here I sit. Praying the Sickness goes away soon and the boy returns to his normal Bear self. Wishing the 4am breathing treatment ends on Friday or I may likely lose my mind. And hoping that the horrible antibiotic shot the Bear was forced to endure today - the one where he screamed for 30 minutes straight and caused a medical assistant to panic and run out of the room - works quickly.

Because I'm not sure how much longer my household can stand this.

Until next time, Log.

Kim

Editor's note: I wrote this entry last night around 9pm. I'm happy to report Scotty slept the whole night with only one waking (around 12:30). We fed him some crackers, nebulized him, and today, he woke up a new boy. I'm hoping we've turned a corner.

Check it out:

http://www.lvrj.com/news/health-district-testing-sickened-runners-after-complaints-135493518.html

(Ugh...un-clicky link, I shake my fist at you!)

Wow. Sounds like this reporter found a really, ahem, great source to quote.

Although I'm not a big fan of "lose my bowels." Did I really say "bowels" to another person? Someone in the media? Really? Really?

Funny how there was no mention of the Cool-Whip container.

The Bear is sick.

He woke up with a 102.7 fever on Saturday morning. He was coughing this wet, mucus-y cough and looked downright miserable. I immediately called the pediatrician and got an appointment that day at 10:45am.

Which meant I was now unable to attend the Holiday Coffee.

Boo.

This is an annual Junior League event, and one of my favorites. A sustaining member opens her (giant, impeccably-decorated) home to members, and we sip coffee or tea from real china while balancing our catered appetizers on crystal plates. There is no alcohol or men, and it's quite lovely. It's like women acting like proper women while teetering on four-inch heels. I had selected my outfit months ago with great care, thinking, "What is conservative enough to wear around my grandma, but stylish enough to wear around my friends?" These types of questions keep me up at night.

But alas, my gorgeous grey-and-black lace sweater dress, complete with black tights and my favorite sha-booties, remained in the closet. Instead, I found myself swathed in an old sweatshirt, no make-up on, driving 90 miles an hour to make it to Scotty's doctor appointment.

Why was I driving so fast? And where was I coming from? Good questions.

Oh, just the Health District.

In a story that can only be described as never-ending, RaceGate continues. As mentioned on Friday, the Health District contacted and asked me for a stool sample. Ever agreeable, I said yes. After picking up my poop kit (with horror, mind you), my friend Deana asked me if I wanted to come over for a play-date. Since I felt the need to discuss the poop kit with another human being, I readily agreed. She was just as horrified as I was and promptly decided to open a bottle of champagne, since the idea of pooping in a bowl the size of a Cool-Whip container was too much for both of us to handle.

So now I'm going to test positive for parasites and Prosecco.

Great.

Anyways, the directions said you can take the sample in immediately, or it can be refrigerated for up to 24 hours. After doing the deed on Saturday morning, I was so aghast at putting this thing in my fridge (despite the multiple levels of plastic wrap) that I told Brian to take the Bear to the appointment; I would meet him there.

And so, that's how I found myself dropping off my Cool-Whip container to an unmarked warehouse on MLK and the 15 on a Saturday morning, and then turning around and driving like a mad woman back to Summerlin. Brian claims his car was stinky, but I think he's just messing with me.

The Bear's fever went down on Saturday night, but I still didn't feel good about leaving him. Our sitter still came, giving me time to get some other things done, and when he went to bed, she offered to stay at help me polish the silver. My mom had just sent me this giant chest with strict instructions to polish it before use, so again, instead of donning my new grey and silver dress (grey is still in, right?), I wore rubber gloves and chatted with our part-time nanny (who is lovely, I might add.)

I've never felt like such a Junior League member before. Here I was, polishing silver with the help. I felt like I was in The Help for a second.

Sunday, the Bear continued to fuss and cough, and this morning, his cough - and overall demeanor - was horrible. Another visit to Dr. Awesome yielded us a choo-choo train-shaped nebulizer and directions to use it every four hours for the next five days. Including nighttime.

And with Brian in arbitration all week and me on sick Bear-duty, I cancelled the Christmas party I am hosting on Wednesday.

I.

Am.

So.

Bummed.

The food will still be eaten, but the three Christmas trees, cool Costco garland, and new stockings will remain unseen. The lights on the house and on the bushes will not be appreciated by anyone except neighbors. Instead of drinking cranberry bellinis with friends, I will be wiping snot and attempting to nebulize a toddler, which is akin to wresting a slippery, angry pig that bites, kicks and screams.

I am sad.

Such is Motherhood, I guess.

This morning at the park, one of Scotty's BFFs, Henry, took a bit of a tumble.

It was a classic toddler fall; too much playground equipment, not enough coordination. Henry had been attempting to traverse these raised flattened steps and simply lost his footing. Despite the fact that four moms were literally within arms' reach of him, we all watched him fall approximately 18 inches to the padded, squishy floor without so much as throwing an arm out to catch the kid.

Needless to say, he's fine, but I don't think Scott is.

It happened right as we were getting ready to leave, so the whole walk to the car, Scott kept up a running dialogue with himself, muttering things like, "Henry fall!" "Henry hurt head!" "Henry has owie."  He appeared deeply concerned about these issues, despite my reassurance that a.) Henry is just fine, b.) Henry's mom is more than competent to handle a playground owie, and c.) chicks dig scars (and bumps and bruises.)

The Bear was not placated.

On the way to the grocery store, he asked me repeatedly if Henry needed a band-aid or medicine. I told him yes, Henry would likely be receiving excellent care from his mother that may or may not involve band-aids and/or medicine. Scotty continued to fret. As we passed the pharmacy aisle on our way to dairy, Scotty stopped to point out a box of Dora band-aids. "Henry," he told me solemnly. I just nodded, since at this point, I was running out of words and patience.

This extreme toddler empathy comes on the heels of yesterday, when Scotty determined his stuffed turtle had an invisible owie. I suggested we give the turtle some pretend medicine, and would you believe we spent 20 minutes drugging that poor turtle? Every time I was ready to move on to the next activity, Scotty would stop me and say, "No. Turtle hurt. Turtle needs medicine." That turtle was probably so high on his faux narcotics by the end of the day that I half-expected to see him on the news, having robbed a pain management clinic.

By the time we sat down for lunch today, Scotty's incessant concern finally caused me to text Jen and inquire about Henry's current well-being. She assured me, and I showed Scotty (my illiterate toddler) the text: Henry was just fine. Scotty looked at me like he didn't quite believe me, but since he didn't have the words to recommend a CAT scan or assess for traumatic brain injury, the conversation blissfully ended.

This is my question: if the Bear is so medically-minded, where was he on Sunday night when I needed him? We really goofed by getting a baby-sitter. I firmly believe all of the runners would have been better served had the Bear been on staff at the race. But then again, since his only known treatment to date is passing out pretend medicine and applying lots of band-aids to non-bleeding wounds, maybe it was best he stayed home.

Race update: The Health District of Southern Nevada issued a survey to all runners who became ill on Sunday night. I got a call from them earlier today, and they'd like me to come in and give them a stool sample to test for possible organisms. Having previously experienced the humiliation of providing a stool sample when pregnant but being far too curious to give up now, I agreed. Looks like I'll be pooping in a hat this weekend.  Hopefully next week, I'll stop talking about poop in every single post.