You Deserve A Break Today

I am now in Orlando, FL on a business trip. (Yes, I'm serious. Every once in a while I take off the homeschooling-mom-denim-jumper and put on the serious-female-executive-Friday-casual-twinset so that I can fulfill some special mission for the business that dh and I own and run. Okay, he runs it. But I help. Some. Hmph.)

But I'm not posting about my business trip to bore you with the details of the business. No, I have something more exciting to share.

I ate at McDonald's for lunch.

You should know that ever since watching Super-Size Me I have avoided McDonald's like my sons avoid bathing. Just the memory of Morgan Spurlock puking out of his car is enough to make me reconsider my dining options. But today was one of those rare, your-choices-are-few sort of days where it was either McDonald's or Denny's. I didn't have time for Denny's. But, my goodness, this was no ordinary Mickey D's.

As I entered the restaurant, a sign by the door caught my eye: "Bistro Gourmet is here!" it announced. Um, okay, I know that brand management is a science and all, but NO ONE, I mean NO ONE is ever going to associate the words "McDonald's" and "Gourmet," no matter what kind of campaign the boys in marketing roll out. Why even try?

But when I got inside, I found to my amazement that this McDonald's did indeed have a claim to the Bistro Gourmet concept. They had... panini sandwiches. With roasted red peppers. And dill sauce. They had chicken burritos. They had Philly cheesesteaks.

Yes, Ronald McDonald been a-reading Bon Appetit!

Needless to say, I had to order SOMETHING from this new menu. Chicken Panini it was. And it did NOT come through a little chute and get plopped on a brown tray, oh, no. It was "prepared" by a "server" wearing a CHEF'S HAT. Who brought it OUT TO MY TABLE. On a WHITE CHINA PLATE heaped with a side of fries and COLE SLAW.

Well, shut my mouth!

Okay, it wasn't the best panini I've ever had. But it was so, so far above your standard Big Mac in a styrofoam box that I just had to tell the world about it.

I don't think the Bistro Gourmet thing exists outside of Orlando. But if you ever come down to Disney World, you can check it out.

On The Road Again

Mawwiage... Mawwaige Is What Bwings Us Togevver Today...

Today was my 17th wedding anniversary. It was very romantic. We woke up early in a hotel room with 2 of our 3 kids (one was at camp) and had breakfast at the Waffle House. Then we went back to my grandmother's house to say goodbye after a wonderful visit, leaving her fully herself and knowing that we probably won't see her that way again this side of Heaven. Then we got in the car and drove for 8 hours on the interstate, while our kids alternated between games of "Mom! He's-On-My-Side!" and "Dad! She-Won't-Let-Go-Of-My-Arm!" We had lunch at Subway outside of Charlotte and split a chocolate chip cookie. We didn't get any tickets and we didn't get in any fights with any big trucks.

And, yes, it was romantic. The kind of romance that says, "Hey, babe, I'm here for you, good times and bad." The kind of romance that drops everything so we can be together during a tough time and lets me cry about losing one more thread to my past and gripe about all the crap that annoys me about my family and sit in exhausted silence on the front porch swing without saying a word.

And when we got home, his momma had fixed us dinner. So I got to eat home cooking and didn't have to fix it myself.

This guy is a keeper.

Thanks for your prayers and good thoughts

My visit with my grandmother was really wonderful. She got some meds that relieved her symptoms but cannot cure her underlying condition. Which means that right now she feels fine and doesn't understand what all the fuss is about... which made our visit feel just like normal, which made it all the more sad to me. But it truly was a gift. I think in 2 or 3 months, when she is finally gone, this will be the one visit I remember best and most fondly.

Part 3 Is Still On My Mind

I still have some thoughts composting about homeschooling, which I hope to post soon. But I'm encouraged to find a renewed energy and sense of anticipation about the new year that I'm sure is the result of blogging here. So thanks for your patience and know that I have more to say. Soon.

Time to Say Goodbye

Tonight I'm writing from a very generic motel in rural North Carolina after a very long day. Last night I got a phone call... one of THOSE phone calls, that make everything else you had planned sort of fall by the wayside. Bottom line is that my beloved grandmother who for many years has been in great health, mentally and physically, is finally proven fallible. The end is near, although we have been given a great gift: time to say goodbye. Time to tell her how much she has meant to us and to listen to her tell us how much she loves us too. It's a precious and yet intense and exhausting time.

If you are the praying kind, would you please pray that when her time comes she would die as she lived, with strength and sweetness and peace. And that her reunion with her husband of 49 years would be the very meaning of joy.

Thank you.

Beware the barbarians!

This is a very interesting article:

Stacks' Appeal

The author describes something I find both surprising and alarming: the tendency for university libraries to move away from real books to electronic ones. He makes a compelling case for preserving the real thing, IMO. Parts of the article remind me of How The Irish Saved Civilization, in that the reading provokes a strong and deep desire to save a valuable heritage from destruction.

This is one reason why we homeschool, right? Because we just LOOOOVVVVVE BOOKS.

And we want our kids to love them, too.

We interrupt this crisis...

A brief interlude here to respond to comments from the last post, because they were really good comments that sparked more thought for me, but they would take me down a different rabbit trail than where I think Part 3 is going to go.

Melissa in Virginia said, “I struggle with that simplest of all solutions: Trust God to work in their lives......and then do my job FOR HIM.” Yep. That whole trusting God thing is part of my problem. It is easy for me to let homeschooling be a form of self-righteousness that I put all my faith in, a way to get out of needing Him in my life. That’s part of the reason I wanted to discuss it here, because in a way I’m naming an idol: I’m recognizing my tendency to turn to another curriculum, or to homeschooling in general, instead of to God. I want to depend on myself and my resources instead of on Him. “Thanks, God, I can take it from here. I’ve got Shurley Grammar to help me!” (grin)

Patty in WA said, "I think there is also something about homeschooling that shows a big light on MY imperfection. I would rather read blogs than teach grammar..." Yes, yes, YES! The IDEA of homeschooling is so much more appealing than the REALITY. I don't know how many times last year I started school later than I intended, just because the thought of sitting down to one more Saxon lesson felt just. so. boring. Much of the year I had to "power through" rather than participate in, joyfully. Duty and drudgery, not discovery and delight. Ah! Ano ah-hah! moment! The duty and drudgery are the fruit of abiding in myself and not in Christ!

That's part of why I'm wrestling with all of this right now. I don't want another year of duty and drudgery. I think the key is this heart examination, and honesty. You have to name the monster in order to know how to fight it.

Part 3 is coming soon. Thanks for discussing this with me.

It's Not You, It's Me...

So here it is: The Thrill is Gone, Part 2.

In the first year of our little home-based educational adventure I was, frankly, in love. Everything that had annoyed me about that old boyfriend, private school, was gone. This new guy, homeschooling, was a lot of fun.

Many of the things I’d feared about homeschooling turned out to be non-issues – like being with my kids all the time. Like a lot of other parents, I was worried that the 24/7 nature of schooling at home would do me in, mentally. In fact, I discovered that I actually enjoyed my kids. They were really funny. And smart. They could do a lot more than I realized they could, and it was really fun to feel like I was nurturing their creativity and their little spirits.

I had also worried about my lack of teaching experience. That, too, turned out to be unfounded. I had already taught my kids many things they needed to know – how to go potty, how to ride a bike, how to set the table, and the major bones in the human body. (Okay – DH was the one who taught them the bones. He thought it was a great party trick.) Homeschooling just turned out to be an extension of other parenting duties. Of course there were things I had to learn about teaching. But there were plenty of resources to help me do that, and I applied myself.

What's more, I found that our whole family was benefitting as a result of this decision. DH and I really felt like we had our kids' hearts. They listened to us, they respected us, they knew no other teachers. For the most part, they did not question our wisdom or our authority. There was trust.

But, as with all other relationships, there were some unpleasant surprises along the way. I did not know what I did not know. Like how there is a BIG difference between knowing how to write and knowing how to teach a third grader to write. Like how hard it is to be patient when your kid just isn’t getting how place value works or why you can’t add fractions like you do whole numbers. Like how much of my own pride is invested in how well they do (or don’t do) on tests. Like how there IS NO PERFECT CURRICULUM, no scope and sequence for making your kids sin-free and superhumanly intelligent.

That last point is a big one. In fact, I think it is what's causing me to fall out of love: Homeschooling is not Mr. Perfect. I really, really wanted him to be. I need there to be SOME answer, some antidote, for my children’s shortcomings. There has to be SOME book, some teaching method, some learning system out there that will make them smart, obedient, successful, articulate, good-looking, and infallible, and “together.” Because if there’s not… well, then it’s all up to me, isn’t it?

I’m speaking the unspeakable here, I know. This is devastating to admit, but it’s true: I want my kids to be perfect. And the longer I homeschool, the more I am forced to acknowledge that that is never going to happen.

That first year of homeschooling, I was a believer. I didn’t say it out loud… but in my heart, I believed that homeschooling would turn out superior kids. Superior academically, superior socially, superior emotionally, superior spiritually. I believed that I was making this huge, noble sacrifice that would give my kids a tremendous advantage over other kids their age – no, not just over other kids, but over the kids they would have been had we continued down the traditional school path. I believed they would have genius test scores. I believed they would love reading and prefer it to video games. I believed they would win science fairs and spelling bees. I believed that one day, they’d rise up and call me blessed and write songs about me and dedicate their Pulitzer-Prize-winning novels to me.

But after five years, the truth is becoming undeniable, and it must be spoken: My kids are just kids. They bicker in the backseat. They complain when asked to do chores that they’ve been asked to do ever since they could walk. They do just fine on their tests but their individual weaknesses are evident. They almost always choose TV over reading. They never skip merrily to their desks when it’s time for math. They HATE grammar and are indifferent to history. And I don’t see any hope that homeschooling them will change any of that.

Okay. That is the hard truth. There is more truth to be spoken about this, but frankly, it’s taken me many hours and an intimate relationship with the backspace key just to get these few nuggets. So I’m going to continue again tomorrow, because I don’t want to end here. Deep down, I still do think homeschooling is a good thing. Even if the initial infatuation is over.

Just a Teaser...

Okay, I am NOT avoiding you. Really, I'm NOT. I am NOT scared to look deep into the dark heart of homeschooling angst and confront my demons. Really.

Okay, maybe a little.

But let me also say that we had a huge reunion of a bunch of dh's high school friends at our home this weekend, which involved lots of cleaning and cooking, PLUS the new Harry Potter came out and once I started it I had to finish it. And don't tell me some of you haven't been doing the same thing too. (grin)

In conclusion, though, I am working on Part 2. It's taking longer than I thought but it is a good exercise and I am glad I posted Part 1 because it is holding my feet to the fire and making me say "out loud" (maybe that's "write out loud") everything I've been trying to deny feeling.

And thank you all for reading it and commenting. It's good encouragement. So I'm hoping to post Part 2 sometime tomorrow.

The Thrill is Gone

Okay, the homeschool convention is coming up in a couple of weeks, and it’s causing me to confront a hard truth about myself and our little off-the-beaten-path educational tour: The thrill is gone.

When DH and I first started discussing homeschooling, our oldest child was in 1st grade and his brother was only four, and they attended a private Christian school near our home. We had a brand-new baby girl and were finding that the whole “school” thing wasn’t what we’d hoped it would be. For one thing, the boys were at two different campuses, in opposite directions. Neither was that far away, yet the hassle factor was high: Fight early-morning traffic to get one kid dropped off by 8:00 a.m., then turn around and fly to the other campus to get brother dropped off by 8:25. Come home, feed sister, clean up the breakfast dishes, put baby down for nap, then whoops! Nap time is over, baby, whether you’re ready or not – it’s time to get in line for the kindergarten carpool. Come back home, fight with four-year-old to take a nap, then wake HIM up to go get his brother at 2:45. This is only 1st grade and kindergarten, folks, and only two kids. What will life be like when you’re juggling three school schedules?

Then there are the field trips. The fund raisers. The class parties. The brownies you need to bake and the costumes you need to sew and the phone calls you need to make. The homework. (For first-graders. Who’ve already been in school six hours.)

Then there was just the missing them. I had left my budding new counseling career to stay home and raise these kids, and had been with them pretty much 24-7 since their births, and now suddenly I was without them for the best parts of their days. I got them for a few hours at the end of the day, when I also had dinner to prepare and laundry to launder. Not the best formula for parent-child bonding. I really missed my boys.

But the final straw was the emotional baggage that just seems unavoidable no matter where you send your kid when you choose to send him off to school. At our local public school, it would have been one kind of baggage; at this school, it came in a different color, but it was baggage all the same. My first grader came home singing a song with a line that went, “Red is for the blood of Christ that saves us from hell; yellow is for the Christian who’s afraid to tell.” AAACCCK! Yeah, and green is for the big bucks he’s going to have to pay some therapist someday to work through his false guilt issues while he decides if he’s ready to come back to organized religion.

So when I started to investigate homeschooling… well, it seemed like the answer to all our troubles. No more having to wake up a kid who clearly isn’t done sleeping. No more rushing through the morning to finish breakfast and find the lost permission slips and missing sneaker and get in the car before 7:45. No more FUND RAISERS. Just educational exploring and delightful, hands-on learning that would guarantee my children’s fully-funded admission into the Ivy League Educational Establishment of his choice. After all, everything you read about homeschooling assures you that it is the path to higher test scores and greater success in college. All that AND you can take a family vacation whenever you want, right?

Well. There is all that. And more. But once again, the whole "homeschool" thing isn't always all I had hoped it would be. Hence my current dilemma... The thrill is gone. Which, since this post is getting sorta long, I'm going to explain tomorrow.

(I.e, To be continued…)

Happy Birthday to Me

Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday to me!
Happy Birthday, dear Mamabird,
Happy Birthday to me!

I am 39 years olds today. One year away from the big 4-0, which, I am told, is "The New Thirty."

For the most part, I have enjoyed my 30's. Here are some new life experiences I have gained during this decade: Homeschooling. (It's the hardest and most rewarding job I've ever undertaken.) Parenting a daughter (VERY different than parenting the sons were born in my 20's). Along with dh, navigating a complete business failure, accompanied by mountainous debt and crushing depression. Along with dh, building a new business from scratch and seeing it succeed beyond wildest dreams. Planning and moving into our dream home. Traveling. Learning Spanish. Leaving the church denomination of my youth and venturing into the wild frontier of grace. Moving solidly out of the "new babies" stage of life, into the "grade school" stage, with 9 toes submerged in the "teenager" phase. (I'm holding that last toe out until it is pushed in.) Rediscovering the balance between being a wife and being a mom. (It's hard to do both well at the same time.) Learning to like both wine and coffee. (Never drank either till after 30.) Learning how to forgive, really forgive. Figuring out that I, too, am the chief of sinners.

I think I will be sad to see this chapter close. So perhaps this last year of 30-something, I should really blow it out. Whaddya think? It's an interesting question - what would "blowing it out" look like?

Cake and ice cream tonight. That'll be a nice start.

The Great Flood

This morning I woke up to see the aftereffects of Hurricane Dennis in my backyard.

I don't live on the Gulf Coast, mind you. But metro Atlanta definitely experienced a little of nature's wrath last night.

Where normally there is pinestraw and shade-loving shrubbery on my property, there was instead encroaching lake. Where we had pulled the canoe up onto high ground was no longer high ground; instead, the canoe was partially submerged a good SIX FEET out from the land. Oldest ds had to wade out into the muck to pull it up onto the NEW high ground. He groused and complained... until he realized that our sodden backyard was right next to our neighbor's submerged backyard, where the swingset and trampoline were perfectly submerged, perfectly, into a water wonderland. Sliding into the water! Yeah! Jumping onto the trampoline AND splashing your brother, all at once! Sweet! All his boyhood pirate fantasies could be played out IN REAL WATER. Ahoy.

DH was less thrilled with the flooding. To tell the truth, even I was a little concerned, as it seemed that it might continue raining and the waters might creep up into the newly finished basement. Ugh. Fortunately, everything the developer told us last year was NOT a lie, as we had begun to suspect... they really did re-engineer the lake behind our house so that a giant spillway would drain off massive quantities of rainwater. And it worked. A couple of hours after the storm quit, the floodwaters had receded. We still have big portions of backyard under water, but the water is considerably farther away from the basement doors than it was this morning.

And as for the boys and dd? They had a grand time playing in the lake waters, until middle ds DISCOVERED A LEECH ON HIS FOOT. That'll kill the high, believe me. And now I can add "Experienced at leech removal and disposal" to my parenting resume. My salary demands just got a LOT higher.

On Sex and Sprained Ankles

My new-found athleticism has its price, it seems. Thursday evening I went out for a run - was going to make it short, mind you, just a 2 mile circle through the 'hood - and about a half-mile into it, somehow sprained my ankle. It happened so fast I'm not sure exactly how it happened - maybe I stepped down on half-curb, half-street, where it's often very uneven. Or maybe I'm just a klutz. Either way, it hurt like bloody mary and I had to flag down help from the neighbors. Wonderful DH came riding up to the rescue and carried me to the car and then to bed once he got me home. Ice, elevation, the whole RICE thing. It made me cry, it hurt so bad.

The next morning I saw the doc who proclaimed it a sprain, not a break, and great waves of relief rolled over my entire being. I don't know why I was so frightened of it being broken. I'm told that sprains are more painful AND take longer to heal than broken bones. Wonderful. Just what I wanted to hear.

Anyway, now I am hobbling around on my dad's crutches and getting stares everywhere I go. My dad's crutches are the kind that only come up to your wrist, with the little half-circles for resting your forearms and handles that jut out, instead of the kind that go under your arm with handles as crosspieces. So when I walk around, if I weren't wearing my ankle brace, you'd think I had MS or some other neuromuscular disorder. So people stare! It's a little uncomfortable when its strangers (like the ones at the Waffle House), but more bearable when it's your friends (like at church today) who instead of staring gave me LOTS of sympathy and fellow-sprained-ankle-survival stories, which greatly lifted my spirits and made me feel like I was not a TOTAL dork. Thanks, guys!

In news from the parenting front... THE TALK is becoming a hot topic around here these days. Did you know that kids are hitting puberty at earlier ages? Does that surprise you as much as it does me? My oldest ds is not yet 12, and he has definitely discovered girls. Which is a good thing, believe me, I know that yet. And yet...

He has girls calling him. Not girls I know, whose parents are my friends, or girls from the neighborhood, about whom I can discreetly inquire. No, these are girls he meets at camps, or at VBS's he visits. Random girls, who seem to think I have any intention of letting my son develop a "relationship" with some girl I've never even met, who hangs up the phone if anyone but my son answers. (Please! Have you never heard of caller ID?)

Yeah, yeah, I know - it's a modern world. And yeah, he's a handsome little guy (who will very soon, probably within a year, be taller than me). But can I just say that I don't care HOW old he is, I'm never going to be okay with being left out of the loop when it comes to his friends? I'm really okay with his being friends with girls, getting to know what girls are like and figuring out what he's going to want (and want to avoid) in a future wife. I just don't want any of that to happen out of my view and earshot. Twelve is not old enough to have learned how to guard your heart and mind from all the bad decisions that can bring you lasting pain.

Sigh.

And now, DH can also breathe a sigh (of relief) that this post wasn't about how to do it with a sprained ankle. I do have SOME sense of propriety, dear.

Going Deep

In my first or second year of homeschooling, I kept getting invited to the homes of other home-educating moms to hear a local fellow home-educating mom, who clearly and desperately wanted to be the next Beth Moore, expound on her theology. I only went to hear her a couple of times, as it didn't take long to figure out that she and I had subtle but HUGELY IMPORTANT differences in our ideas about Who God Is and What He Wants From Us. She spoke from a God-Has-These-Rules-For-Your-Life-And-You'd-Better-Follow-Em viewpoint, a viewpoint from which I'm recently liberated and to which I have no desire to return.

But lest you think I am condemning her, I am not. I am judging her, in the sense of weighing what she had to say and finding that I didn't agree with much of it. But not condemning. In fact, she said something at one of those talks that has stuck with me over the last 3 or 4 years and for which I have always been grateful. It was one of those rare moments you look back on and realize that God is saying something He really wants you to pay attention to. It was, simply, "Go deep."

At the time, DH had quit a miserable job (with my blessing, FWIW), and we were living very carefully and frugally, waiting for the next thing to come along. It was a place we'd been in before, a valuable and necessary place where faith really stretches and gets limbered up, but a place you hope to escape as quickly as you can. So I was feeling - well, not quite deprived, as all our basic needs were met and we were all very happy to have Daddy back from the clutches of Evil Corporate America - but hemmed in. Limited. I had to count every penny. I had to tell my kids, and myself, "No," a lot. We cut back not only on things, but on activities, and I was feeling bereft of good experiences.

So it was into this soil that the little thought, "Go deep," dropped. I think the teacher was talking about how discouraged she was about not reaching a wider audience with her teaching, and God encouraged her by saying, "You don't need to go wide right now. You need to go deep." Well, He also encouraged me with that thought, in a different direction.

I started seeing our limitations differently after that. I realized that if I had unlimited resources, I would get myself and my kids involved in lots and lots of different activities, but it would be difficult for us to develop meaningful relationships with other people if we were always flitting around from place to place, never available to accept a spontaneous invitation to come and play, never home to be able to offer one. I was reminded that reading and writing and thinking didn't cost me a dime.

Lately this little thought has been trying to push up through the crust of my current affluence and bloom again. DH is gainfully, and better, employed, and the current boundaries seem limitless to me. We spent the first 3 weeks of this summer shuttling off to sports camps and science workshops and church events. But our little camping trip pulled me up short. Now that we're back home, I'm feeling the need to settle down a bit, roast a few marshmallows, play a few card games with the kids, maybe read aloud. Memorize some Scripture. Write in my journal. Slow down. Go deep.

Spiritual Gardening

How long, O naive ones, will you love simplicity?
And scoffers delight themselves in scoffing,
And fools hate knowledge?
Turn to my reproof,
Behold, I will pour out my spirit on you;
I will make my words known to you.
Solomon, Proverbs 1:22-23

Decided to read out of Proverbs today because it has been too long since I have saturated myself in wisdom. On Sunday at church we took communion, which has become precious to me, not in the sentimental sense of the word; it made me realize I had been taking a vacation from growing, and I needed to get back to the real business of becoming who I am supposed to be. And the only way to do that is to do it.

No, I'm not saying "I" do it. I know that true spiritual growth is a work of grace, that I can no more make myself grow than I can make a flower grow. I believe that sanctification is something God does in me, not something I can work toward on my own.

But I can water and fertilize and compost and till, and I have neglected these activities for a while. Time to pull a few weeds and start cultivating my heart again.

Runner's High

Running is a solitary pursuit.



Except on the Fourth of July in Atlanta.

It was thrilling. THRILLING.

But I've seen nicer t-shirts in my life.

The Domestic Goddess as Athlete

Back from camping now! It was fun and I have one funny story to share.

Six months ago I started running again (after a hiatus of several years). I set my sights on running the Peachtree Road Race as a motivation for getting back into shape. Sometimes it helps to have a reason to lace up those shoes.

As it happened, my last week of "training" (and I use that term very, very loosely!) coincided with my camping trip, which takes place in the mountains of North Georgia, in which there are no roads that aren't headed either straight up or straight down. So basically, my only option for running was a circuitous and hilly route around the campground. Flat on one side of the lake, then up an incline known by fellow campers as "Cardiac Hill." (They even have the name carved on a little wooden sign.) Back down the hill, around the clubhouse, a nice flat stretch around lots of motor homes, then up a hill so strenuous that you're really just walking it at a fast pace even though you haven't changed your pace. Down the other side of that hill, you feel smug and Olympic. (Why this hill didn't earn the name Cardiac Hill has never been explained to me.)

I ran three times during the week, enough so that I saw the same people up at the same time, walking or taking out their dogs or cooking their eggs and bacon on the outdoor grills. They always had something clever to say but I rarely heard them because I run to very loud music on my iPod-clone Zen, so I usually just smiled and waved. (This is the South, you know. If you don't greet people, they will think you are a Yankee. Can't have that.)

Anyway, on my last run, I made two and half circuits around the campground, passing some of these people three or four times. (For all the Yankees who might be reading this, know that you only have to smile and wave the first time. Thereafter you will not be perceived as inexcusably rude if you just keep looking straight ahead.) Finally I finished and slowed to a walk, not far from a gaggle of old guys shooting the breeze on the side of the road. As I approached, one old man peered at me out from under his straw hat and said, "You some kinda athlete or somethin'?"

Well, I was startled. But also pleased! Hey, no one has EVER mistaken me for an athlete before! Evvv-ver. So I modestly replied, "Oh, no, no. I'm just running the Peachtree on Monday. Trying to stay in shape for it." He looked confused. I added, "It's a race. In Atlanta."

He broke into a warm smile. "Oh, I see! Well, when you win that race, you'll have to come back and tell us all about it!"

He was so cute, and so sincere, I didn't have the heart to tell him I was up against 54,999 other runners. At least 50,000 of whom are virtually guaranteed to finish ahead of me. I just smiled and said, "You bet I will."

You just can't help feeling all warm and fuzzy about people when they believe the best for you.

How I Became A Cobb County Snob and Stopped Returning Calls

Yes, it's a weird title, but I'm doing penance for not calling my best friend Ruthie back in a timely manner. Ruthie is the Mother of All Wisdom and deserves better treatment than that from me. Ruthie, I am truly, deeply sorry.