The Beggar

As Wyatt is somewhat vertically challenged, he prefers to sit at the table during all meals with everyone else.  He seems to have figured out that he is easily ignored when on the ground, unlike the giant lab and chubby golden, who can rest their big slobbery faces on your lap and shamelessly beg. 

He sits politely at the table.  He does not try to crawl onto the table or lick your plate, he just sits. And stares. With his giant, oh-please-take-pity-on-me-I-haven't-eaten-in-five-minutes eyes.  And then he eventually gets what he wants.... criminal.

Why am I such a sucker for that face?!

A Florida Christmas

While most parades consist of elaborate floats and giant balloons, Florida has the Christmas Boat Parade.  I wasn't sure what to expect, as past events that my parents have dragged me to have been, well, less than stellar, but this was spectacular!  We went to a family friend's home on the ICW (Intercoastal Waterway) to watch the parade from their dock. 

As usual, my family was the largest, loudest crowd there.  While other, civilized attendees sipped their wine and politely applauded each passing 'ship,' my clan whooped and hollered the entire time, coming dangerously close to falling off the dock and into the ICW.  I don't think the others knew what to make of us.  I mean, here is my adorable mother, who I can best describe as Sally Fields in Brothers and Sisters, miss head of hospitality at church, with her perfect coif and kitten heels, enthusiatically cheering on every light display with her five ruffian children.  We were the loudest ones within a five mile radius, easily.  But at least we are fun!

I apologize for the picture quality, as the photos were captured using the camera on my Blackberry, but I wanted to give you at least a feel for the awesomeness that is a Florida Christmas Boat Parade!

Nativity Scene ("Reason for the Season"):

Snoopy! Charlie Brown Christmas:

Santa and Mrs. Claus:

Rudolph:

Nutcracker Fantasy (my brother's favorite):

Impressive, right?!



Marathon #2

After I finished my first half marathon my senior year in college, I swore I would never run again.  Well, never run further than 6 miles again anyway.  It was the worst running experience of my life.  Temperatures in the high 80s (which, for a Chicagoan, might as well be running in a desert), no shade, poor training, and no fan club.  It was miserable.  I finished in about 2 hours and then spent the rest of the day curled up in the bathroom sick from dehydration.

And yet, here I am, three 10-mile races, three half marathons, and two full marathons later...

My first full marathon was the Chicago Marathon last year.  I signed up for it one night at 2am when I was still at the client site and decided I needed a new goal outside of working ridiculous hours.  My colleagues who were present at the time told me I was crazy... and still think I'm crazy.

Papa Phil, aka Daddy, came in town for the event.  He navigated the "L" train system to catch me as at many points as he could and was there to cheer me on through the finish line.  Arguably most importantly, he was there to practically carry me from the post race celebration to the closest L station, hold me up in the throngs of other runners on the train, and get me home safely in my post-race state of delirium (which was not helped by the fact that upon crossing the finish line, the nice people from Goose Island Brewery hand you two delicious 312 beers. Amazing).

I finished the Jacksonville Marathon this morning.  My mom, having never attended a running event before, cheered me on the entire way with my dad.  I would not have been able to do it without them.  Seriously, at about mile 11, I was convinced I was done.  The first 10 miles were awesome, just under 8 minute pace and cruising, and then... I realized that no, eating pull porked sandwiches and drinking beer the night before was in fact not a good idea. 

My dad made fun of Mom when her advice to me at the beginning of the race was, "Focus, take deep breathes, and you'll do great!" but the deep breathes got me past the painful miles 11 - 16.  Most people struggle after hitting the infamous wall at mile 20, but for me the middle is the worst (especially the morning after a family Christmas party).   Fortunately, my parents made it to every single spectator station. Their cheering was so amazing that after the race, a couple fellow runners approached my mother and thanked her for her enthusiasm!

The finish, however, was bittersweet.  I missed Boston qualifying by one minute.  One. Measly. Minute.  3:42.  I needed 3:40:59. BUT I beat my Chicago Marathon time by seven minutes.  Guess I'll just have to qualify at the Houston Marathon on January 30th...

And yes, if you were wondering, I did wear my Finisher's medal all day long. Even to the grocery store.  Because I'm just that cool.

Thanks Martha

When I first purchased this super adorable "snuggler" dog bed from Martha Stewart's collection for Petsmart, Wyatt was skeptical.  He cautiously approached it, sniffed it, and gingerly stepped into it... aaaaand then he took the stuffed bone that came with it and sprinted to the living room to rip it to shreds.

I was so disappointed. I mean, how could he not love the Tiffany blue color and soft fleece inside??

CO's theory, a friend who was with me when I purchased the bed, is that Wyatt overheard the sales woman's comment: "You know, there are beds on clearance in the back of the shop.  If I were you, I wouldn't support someone who has been in JAIL.  You do know, don't you?  Martha Stewart was in jail."

Oh really? Wow, I had no idea this was the same Martha Stewart who's story was plastered across every front page and magazine cover a few years ago! THANKS! 

People never fail to amaze me.

Needless to say, I bought the bed.  It was, and still is, adorable.

And, good news... It appears, after months of deliberating, Wyatt likes it!

He always succeeds in looking rather awkward...but I'm confident he is actually quite cozy.  Thanks Martha!

all he does

All day. This is what he does.

Sometimes he switches locations. But same activity. 

And he loves sleeping on clothes.  Clean clothes are his favorite. Lovely.

T.P.

I'm not sure whether to be impressed or disgusted.  I think I'm a little bit of both.

At 5am this morning, Wyatt woke me up.  As Friday's are rest days in marathon training, I had no intention of being up that early.  Wyatt, however, has become accustomed to 5am walks before I head out for my morning runs, so I dragged myself out of bed and took the little booger out.

Once outside, he sprints to the nearest grassy patch.  And...just...wow.

I knew he had gotten into the bathroom trash a few nights ago, but I had no idea what he had actually consumed. I mean, I had some ideas, but I assumed anything he ingested would at least have been chewed up prior to swallowing.  But there it was - a fully intact tampon. I apologize for anyone reading this who was unprepared for that, but imagine how I felt seeing that at 5am. Fully intact!! How does that even happen?!?!

I wouldn't be making a big deal out of this if Wyatt were a 90 pound lab, but Wyatt weighs a total of 16 pounds. A tampon is longer than his head!!! How did he do that?!  Wyatt is the dog that eats one piece of kibble at a time.  Seriously - he grabs a mouthful from his bowl, sprints to the middle of the living room, and eats one piece at a time.  This process is repeated until the bowl is empty. He is the dog that chews on the tag of his stuffed animals because that is the only piece he can actually fit in his mouth.  But here he is, inhaling an entire tampon and pooping it out. WHOLE.  WHOLE!!

Unfortunately for him, this means his nickname has evolved from "Wiggles" to "T.P."  Until he tops this, he will be known as the Tampon Pooper.  My dog is a freak.

Houston?

Houston. Hoouuuston.  H-o-u-ston.

Houston.

"Where are you from?"
"Chic... I mean Houston. I live in Houston."

Houston. The 4th largest city by population in the U.S. Chicago is the 3rd largest city. So they shouldn't be that different, right?

Wrong. Oh so wrong.

Chicago is a city. An I-don't-need-a-car-to-get-around city. A public-transportation-is-amazing city.  An everyone-lives-in-apartments-or-maybe-a-townhome city.  An everything-I-need-to-survive-is-within-walking-distance city.  An all-my-friends-live-in-the-city city.  A none-of-my-friends-are-even-in-a-serious-relationship city. An I-can-get-anything-I-want-at-any-time-of-the-day city.  An I'm-never-the-only-one-on-the-sidewalk city.  An it-takes-at-least-40-minutes-to-get-to-a-suburb city.

Houston...is a giant suburb posing as a city.  I would be stranded if I didn't have a car.  I have to Google the nearest grocery store. I have to Google the nearests Starbucks.  I have to Google a running path because who needs sidewalks when you drive your F-150 everywhere?!?!

And did I mention I'm on of maybe 5 single 20-something females in the entire city? 'Cuz I am. For sure.

But I'm making it work. Or more so, I keep myself busy with work. And through work I've met my closest friends. And work took me to Buenos Aires. And Paris. And London. As you can probably guess, I moved here for work.  And I love my job...85% of the time anyway.

Of course, there is much more to life than work.  There is Wyatt.  There is family.  There is running. And there is food. Oh there is food.  But this isn't another food blog, mainly because I don't have the patience to take pictures and note the recipe when I cook or bake.  What this is, is a creative outlet for a life dominated by Excel spreadsheets and PowerPoint presentations, marathon training schedules and race registrations.  Don't expect a consistent topic or theme.  Just go with it.