Yesterday, I thought about how nice it would be to go to the beach with Super Boy today, since he's been wanting to go swimming for the past few days but I had too much to do for us to be able to go.
Anyway, I looked at today's weather forecast yesterday, thinking perhaps we could do it today. I was delighted at what I saw: "partly cloudy and 86." Perfect for a day at the beach, right?
So then I woke up this morning to find cloudy, gray skies and wet.
...What?? Where's my "partly cloudy skies?" Where's the sun!?!?
grumble, grumble, grumble
Maybe the sun will decide to stop by later on and we can just make it a half-day at the beach instead...?
Or maybe we'll just have to go tomorrow or Friday. That is, if I can have a shred of hope that the forecasts for either of those days will be accurate.
Not bloody likely.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Back to School
I've been doing some thinking lately. Longer than lately, but still. I'm thinking about going back to school.
I've thought about it before, but never seriously. This time, however, I'm serious. And I've gotta admit, I'm a little excited at the thought.
Back when I was 27 or 28, I actually applied to law school, thinking that was the route I wanted to take in my career. I did okay on the LSAT, was wait-listed for several weeks at the one law school in my area to which I had applied, and then received a rejection letter when all was said and done.
It was devastating. I felt like a huge failure, even though receiving that news opened the door for the other major pursuit I'd been considering at the time, which was starting my family. Had I gotten accepted to law school, I'd have put off trying for a baby for another few years, and given what I'm going through now trying to have a second baby, God only knows if I'd have gotten pregnant. So, really, I'm glad that all worked out the way it did. Plus, after working closely with attorneys for a handful of years, it struck me that it really wasn't a profession I wanted to pursue. I enjoyed my role working with them, but ultimately decided that I didn't want to be ONE of them.
The whole subject of returning to school was then put on the back shelf for many years. Just a year or so ago, I finally came across that thought again. I dusted it off, examined it cautiously with a hint of interest, but felt that the timing just wasn't right. So back on the shelf it went.
But then, over the past few weeks, I've found that the thought has wriggled off it's shelf in the back of my mind and crept it's way up into my daily thoughts. Who knows, maybe it began its journey when I started becoming aware of feeling incredibly restless and trapped by my own intertia, and felt it had to do something to rescue me from it. Whatever the case, I'm glad it came back to the foreground of my thoughts.
My original Bachelor of Arts degree is in Psychology and Social Welfare. I worked not one moment in either of those fields. I just think that's important to point out.
Instead, my career path was a long and winding one that spanned 12 years prior to my leaving the workforce to stay at home and tend to Super Boy and our household. I don't regret that; not really. I learned SO much along the way, and found that one of my best qualities professionally is that I'm extremely adaptable, in that I'm not afraid to tackle new things and uncharted territory and make something great out of it.
That said, there are times when I kick myself for not being more thoughtful in choosing my major(s) more carefully the first time around. But, at 18, who REALLY knows what they want to do for the rest of their lives? At the time, I felt fairly certain that I wanted to be a pscyhologist and work with families and children. Unfortunately, I didn't realize at the time that I'd have to go on to earn a PhD in order to actually DO that. There was simply no way that I was going to spend another several years in school at that point, both because I was flat broke (and, more accurately, in a decent amount of debt) and I was burned out after being in school from the time I was 5 until I was 22. I wanted to experience life NOT in school.
Well, I've done that now. And I'm ready to go back. Only this time, my interests are a bit more artistic and technical in nature. I won't elaborate other than to say that I feel pretty confident that this time around I would actually be working in my field of study when all is said and done!
Here's hoping that all the planets align properly to make it doable.... Cross your fingers for me, readers.
XOXO
SW
I've thought about it before, but never seriously. This time, however, I'm serious. And I've gotta admit, I'm a little excited at the thought.
Back when I was 27 or 28, I actually applied to law school, thinking that was the route I wanted to take in my career. I did okay on the LSAT, was wait-listed for several weeks at the one law school in my area to which I had applied, and then received a rejection letter when all was said and done.
It was devastating. I felt like a huge failure, even though receiving that news opened the door for the other major pursuit I'd been considering at the time, which was starting my family. Had I gotten accepted to law school, I'd have put off trying for a baby for another few years, and given what I'm going through now trying to have a second baby, God only knows if I'd have gotten pregnant. So, really, I'm glad that all worked out the way it did. Plus, after working closely with attorneys for a handful of years, it struck me that it really wasn't a profession I wanted to pursue. I enjoyed my role working with them, but ultimately decided that I didn't want to be ONE of them.
The whole subject of returning to school was then put on the back shelf for many years. Just a year or so ago, I finally came across that thought again. I dusted it off, examined it cautiously with a hint of interest, but felt that the timing just wasn't right. So back on the shelf it went.
But then, over the past few weeks, I've found that the thought has wriggled off it's shelf in the back of my mind and crept it's way up into my daily thoughts. Who knows, maybe it began its journey when I started becoming aware of feeling incredibly restless and trapped by my own intertia, and felt it had to do something to rescue me from it. Whatever the case, I'm glad it came back to the foreground of my thoughts.
My original Bachelor of Arts degree is in Psychology and Social Welfare. I worked not one moment in either of those fields. I just think that's important to point out.
Instead, my career path was a long and winding one that spanned 12 years prior to my leaving the workforce to stay at home and tend to Super Boy and our household. I don't regret that; not really. I learned SO much along the way, and found that one of my best qualities professionally is that I'm extremely adaptable, in that I'm not afraid to tackle new things and uncharted territory and make something great out of it.
That said, there are times when I kick myself for not being more thoughtful in choosing my major(s) more carefully the first time around. But, at 18, who REALLY knows what they want to do for the rest of their lives? At the time, I felt fairly certain that I wanted to be a pscyhologist and work with families and children. Unfortunately, I didn't realize at the time that I'd have to go on to earn a PhD in order to actually DO that. There was simply no way that I was going to spend another several years in school at that point, both because I was flat broke (and, more accurately, in a decent amount of debt) and I was burned out after being in school from the time I was 5 until I was 22. I wanted to experience life NOT in school.
Well, I've done that now. And I'm ready to go back. Only this time, my interests are a bit more artistic and technical in nature. I won't elaborate other than to say that I feel pretty confident that this time around I would actually be working in my field of study when all is said and done!
Here's hoping that all the planets align properly to make it doable.... Cross your fingers for me, readers.
XOXO
SW
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Paper, Paper and More Paper
I've got a confession to make. (And for what it's worth, yes, I do realize that this is probably my umpteenth confession, but I don't care.)
I HATE PAPER.
Not the pretty decorative type, like what one would use for scrapbooking or card making. Nor do I hate lovely stationery, or cool little notebooks or notepads. LOVE those.
No, the kind of paper I hate is the kind that accumulates. The random bits and pieces that we (I) feel the need to hold onto for one reason or another, be they bills, old investment statements, insurance documents, receipts, interesting articles, Super Boy's first forays into writing. That sort of stuff.
I realize, of course, that SOME paper must be held onto for tax purposes and other common-sense reasons. But my hoarding of paper has far exceeded the required "must hold onto" rules. And it's simply inexplicable.
Many people have ZERO shredders in their homes; I have two. And their baskets are perpetually full. So it's not that I don't WANT to rid my life of the paper. It's just that the darn stuff multiplies like bunnies when left unattended for a few weeks (or months). It's insane.
That said, please excuse me while I go shred another enormous pile of useless and unneeded paper... And then file another enormous stack that I've let grow out of control.
Aaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhhh....
Signed,
Your Paper-Hoarding Pal SW
I HATE PAPER.
Not the pretty decorative type, like what one would use for scrapbooking or card making. Nor do I hate lovely stationery, or cool little notebooks or notepads. LOVE those.
No, the kind of paper I hate is the kind that accumulates. The random bits and pieces that we (I) feel the need to hold onto for one reason or another, be they bills, old investment statements, insurance documents, receipts, interesting articles, Super Boy's first forays into writing. That sort of stuff.
I realize, of course, that SOME paper must be held onto for tax purposes and other common-sense reasons. But my hoarding of paper has far exceeded the required "must hold onto" rules. And it's simply inexplicable.
Many people have ZERO shredders in their homes; I have two. And their baskets are perpetually full. So it's not that I don't WANT to rid my life of the paper. It's just that the darn stuff multiplies like bunnies when left unattended for a few weeks (or months). It's insane.
That said, please excuse me while I go shred another enormous pile of useless and unneeded paper... And then file another enormous stack that I've let grow out of control.
Aaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhhh....
Signed,
Your Paper-Hoarding Pal SW
Monday, July 6, 2009
I LOVE Summer!
Friday: Ran errands with the Super Family. Bought a hammock (FINALLY!), put it together in under 10 minutes, and relaxed for a good 30 minutes in it before Super Man and the Super Kids wanted in.
Friday night: Milwaukee's lakefront fireworks. Gorgeous. A little ill-timed this year, but still fabulous.
Saturday: Local 4th of July parade with our neighborhood friends. Men saved the seats early, women & kids joined 30 minutes before the parade started, kids had a blast, we enjoyed the tradition. Then went to some Super Friends' house for a great cookout, conversation and fun for the whole fam. Came home and napped in the afternoon.
Saturday night: Our local fireworks display, seen from our favorite not-so-secret-now location out of the fray with our favorite neighborhood friends. Was truly a spectacular display that did our community proud and a wonderful way to cap off the glorious Independence Day.
Sunday: SUMMERFEST!! (Need I say more?)
Party on...
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Good news: Funky heartbeat issue is "normal!"
Yes, it's true!
After wearing a "loop recorder" for a month (and having a few unfortunate mishaps wherein I inadvertently and unknowingly kept deleting the events I was recording...), and ultimately transmitting a handful of recorded events to my cardiologist, it has been determined that my funky heartbeat thing is what are called "PVCs."
For those of us non-cardiologists, that translates to "premature ventricular contractions," or what my cardiologist's nurse practitioner referred to as "early heartbeats." According to Wikipedia, this essentially means that instead of the heartbeat originating in the sinoatrial node of the heart, it's initiating in the ventricles, which are the lower chambers of the heart muscle (the upper chambers are atria).
That premature heartbeat triggers that feeling of a heart palpitation or fluttering, which is exactly what I was feeling. Fortunately, my PVCs are very brief and they generally aren't continuous (although I sometimes will have 2 or 3 in a row), so for me they are considered simply a "normal variant."
My cardiologist will sometimes treat PVCs with medication, but usually only if the PVCs are disrupting a patient's life or making them severely anxious. My anxiety from my funky heartbeat was pretty much purely over not knowing what it was or what was causing it. Now that I know that it's not a serious, imminently lethal heart problem, I'm feeling much more okay with it, and the instances of it don't really disrupt my life or anything like that. However, if I ever do get pregnant again, the PVCs may also become more frequent, so if that does start making me anxious or affecting me physically in terms of making me lightheaded, etc., then I will most likely get on medication to control it for that period of time.
Bottom line, as far as the PVC thing is concerned, as long as it's not having a major impact on my daily life, I don't have to see the cardiologist again and I don't require any treatment for it.
That said, there's still the other cardiac issue of my near-fainting episodes during the '07 triathlon and the '08 fitness boot camp, in addition to my heart rate clocking in at 220 during one of my normal workouts back in February. The cardiologist is not seeing anything that would explain that from my echo or my EKG, so he wants me to get back in to see him right away if I have any other instances of near-fainting or my heart rate monitor picking up crazy-high heart rates, and then he'll have me basically go through a stress test to see if the high heart rate can be induced while I'm being monitored so they can see what's going on. I'm hopeful that this won't come to pass (after all, the fact is that the near-fainting episodes happened during two EXTREME physical activities for me, activities I'm not likely to participate in again!), but if it does, at least I know that they will look into it again quickly.
At 35, I've got to say that these weird heart issues I'd recently begun experiencing really had me pretty freaked out, especially considering that I'm not in bad shape for my age. I'm glad I got them checked out and that I have some answers as to what's going on, and some reassurances that these are generally not serious issues. I'll sleep easier knowing that my heart is not a ticking timebomb!
For any of you readers who have unusual heart issues, go get them checked and get yourself some peace of mind. I want you all to be healthy and well, so even if you aren't inclined to do it for yourself, do it for me!! :)
Peace out,
SW
After wearing a "loop recorder" for a month (and having a few unfortunate mishaps wherein I inadvertently and unknowingly kept deleting the events I was recording...), and ultimately transmitting a handful of recorded events to my cardiologist, it has been determined that my funky heartbeat thing is what are called "PVCs."
For those of us non-cardiologists, that translates to "premature ventricular contractions," or what my cardiologist's nurse practitioner referred to as "early heartbeats." According to Wikipedia, this essentially means that instead of the heartbeat originating in the sinoatrial node of the heart, it's initiating in the ventricles, which are the lower chambers of the heart muscle (the upper chambers are atria).
That premature heartbeat triggers that feeling of a heart palpitation or fluttering, which is exactly what I was feeling. Fortunately, my PVCs are very brief and they generally aren't continuous (although I sometimes will have 2 or 3 in a row), so for me they are considered simply a "normal variant."
My cardiologist will sometimes treat PVCs with medication, but usually only if the PVCs are disrupting a patient's life or making them severely anxious. My anxiety from my funky heartbeat was pretty much purely over not knowing what it was or what was causing it. Now that I know that it's not a serious, imminently lethal heart problem, I'm feeling much more okay with it, and the instances of it don't really disrupt my life or anything like that. However, if I ever do get pregnant again, the PVCs may also become more frequent, so if that does start making me anxious or affecting me physically in terms of making me lightheaded, etc., then I will most likely get on medication to control it for that period of time.
Bottom line, as far as the PVC thing is concerned, as long as it's not having a major impact on my daily life, I don't have to see the cardiologist again and I don't require any treatment for it.
That said, there's still the other cardiac issue of my near-fainting episodes during the '07 triathlon and the '08 fitness boot camp, in addition to my heart rate clocking in at 220 during one of my normal workouts back in February. The cardiologist is not seeing anything that would explain that from my echo or my EKG, so he wants me to get back in to see him right away if I have any other instances of near-fainting or my heart rate monitor picking up crazy-high heart rates, and then he'll have me basically go through a stress test to see if the high heart rate can be induced while I'm being monitored so they can see what's going on. I'm hopeful that this won't come to pass (after all, the fact is that the near-fainting episodes happened during two EXTREME physical activities for me, activities I'm not likely to participate in again!), but if it does, at least I know that they will look into it again quickly.
At 35, I've got to say that these weird heart issues I'd recently begun experiencing really had me pretty freaked out, especially considering that I'm not in bad shape for my age. I'm glad I got them checked out and that I have some answers as to what's going on, and some reassurances that these are generally not serious issues. I'll sleep easier knowing that my heart is not a ticking timebomb!
For any of you readers who have unusual heart issues, go get them checked and get yourself some peace of mind. I want you all to be healthy and well, so even if you aren't inclined to do it for yourself, do it for me!! :)
Peace out,
SW
Friday, June 26, 2009
Celebrities die, too.
What a week it's been for Hollywood: First, Ed McMahon dies. Then, in the same day, both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson bid the world farewell.
It's craziness, I tell you. What is happening to the world when three beloved members of the Hollywood elite pass in the same week?
Where Ed McMahon was concerned, I will admit that he was most famous to me for the Publisher's Clearinghouse commercials. See, I wasn't a big watcher of "The Tonight Show" when Carson was the frontman and McMahon was the sidekick, so I sort of missed his glory days. But I know how famous and popular that dynamic duo once was, and after years of watching Ed McMahon make people's dreams come true through the PC, he was like a long-lost member of the family. Of course, I'd have been willing to call him Grampa if he'd ever delivered a million dollar prize to OUR door, but I digress. The loss of that man was a great blow to "old Hollywood."
Then there was Farrah. The beautiful, ethereal, feathery-voiced and, yes, slightly ditzy Ms. Farrah. I think every one of my boyfriends from junior and senior high had at least one of her posters up on his wall, and she was one of those women who girls like me could simply NEVER live up to. No matter what. No amount of eye make-up or hair feathering was going to make ME look like HER - no way, no how. Still, I was in total agreement that she was gorgeous.
I loved her in "The Burning Bed," and I thought she did a fantastic job in some cheesy TV movie called "The Substitute Wife" in which she played a prostitute in the Old West who a dying farm wife (played by Lea Thompson) chose to be her replacement with her husband and children. Despite her somewhat ditzy personality in live interviews, the woman could act - there's no denying that.
As Farrah's battle with anal cancer became public and her health slowly declined, I found myself inexplicably drawn to her story, fascinated by her strength and courage. I know some people criticized her for being so public with her battle, claiming she was seeking attention, but I admired her for choosing to take her fight against cancer public. There's no denying that when celebrities take their health struggles public, it makes some of us little people sit up and take notice and pay a little more attention to what's happening in our own bodies, and it's no doubt saved a few lives. Given her generous, loving spirit, I'm sure it was a great consolation to her in the end to know that her choice to battle cancer publicly may have saved a few lives, even if not her own. I hope that her passing was peaceful, and that her loved ones can find their peace in this loss, as well. Especially her son, Redmond. That boy has some serious issues to work through. I only hope that he truly seeks to resolve them rather than bury himself further in his drug addictions to seek solace.
And, last but certainly not least, MJ. Michael Jackson, the King of Pop. Oh, Michael... Such a tortured soul of a man, and yet one with immeasurable God-given talent. I remember "discovering" Michael Jackson when I was in probably third or fourth grade, when "Thriller" came out. In fact, "Thriller" was either my first or second album purchase ever (the other was Crystal Gayle!), and I LOVED that album. I played it over and over again, even when the song "Thriller" came on and scared the bejeezus out of me time and time again. And the video... don't even get me started. I loved it in the movie "13 Going On 30" when Jennifer Garner's character does the Thriller dance at the company party. That was simply awesome.
Watching MJ self-destruct over the last two decades was painful to watch as he went from being an enormously talented young man with the world at his feet and the respect and adoration of millions upon millions to a strange, physically self-mutilated recluse and late-night joke, who may or may not have been a child molester and seemed to have some serious psychological issues. It seemed as though his social oddities and early affinity for plastic surgery at first just made people confused and uncomfortable, but they were willing to overlook that - for awhile. When the accusations of child sexual abuse entered the picture and his surgical adventures left him look less-than-human, I think it all added up to have a tremendously negative impact on his career, which seemed to in turn send him on an even deeper downward spiral.
After the announcement of his unexpected death yesterday, I know I spent time reflecting upon how I came to know - and love - MJ, and how far I'd drifted away from being a fan over the years. Hearing the radio stations today playing old Jackson 5/Jacksons and MJ songs in honor of his life really reminded me of what an amazing talent he possessed, and what a fundamentally pure-souled person he was. The world definitely lost one of music's most talented people ever yesterday.
I hope this is the end of the Hollywood celeb death cycle for awhile. They say these things happen in threes, and that was certainly the case this week. Very, very sad.
RIP Ed, Farrah and Michael. Rest in peace.
It's craziness, I tell you. What is happening to the world when three beloved members of the Hollywood elite pass in the same week?
Where Ed McMahon was concerned, I will admit that he was most famous to me for the Publisher's Clearinghouse commercials. See, I wasn't a big watcher of "The Tonight Show" when Carson was the frontman and McMahon was the sidekick, so I sort of missed his glory days. But I know how famous and popular that dynamic duo once was, and after years of watching Ed McMahon make people's dreams come true through the PC, he was like a long-lost member of the family. Of course, I'd have been willing to call him Grampa if he'd ever delivered a million dollar prize to OUR door, but I digress. The loss of that man was a great blow to "old Hollywood."
Then there was Farrah. The beautiful, ethereal, feathery-voiced and, yes, slightly ditzy Ms. Farrah. I think every one of my boyfriends from junior and senior high had at least one of her posters up on his wall, and she was one of those women who girls like me could simply NEVER live up to. No matter what. No amount of eye make-up or hair feathering was going to make ME look like HER - no way, no how. Still, I was in total agreement that she was gorgeous.
I loved her in "The Burning Bed," and I thought she did a fantastic job in some cheesy TV movie called "The Substitute Wife" in which she played a prostitute in the Old West who a dying farm wife (played by Lea Thompson) chose to be her replacement with her husband and children. Despite her somewhat ditzy personality in live interviews, the woman could act - there's no denying that.
As Farrah's battle with anal cancer became public and her health slowly declined, I found myself inexplicably drawn to her story, fascinated by her strength and courage. I know some people criticized her for being so public with her battle, claiming she was seeking attention, but I admired her for choosing to take her fight against cancer public. There's no denying that when celebrities take their health struggles public, it makes some of us little people sit up and take notice and pay a little more attention to what's happening in our own bodies, and it's no doubt saved a few lives. Given her generous, loving spirit, I'm sure it was a great consolation to her in the end to know that her choice to battle cancer publicly may have saved a few lives, even if not her own. I hope that her passing was peaceful, and that her loved ones can find their peace in this loss, as well. Especially her son, Redmond. That boy has some serious issues to work through. I only hope that he truly seeks to resolve them rather than bury himself further in his drug addictions to seek solace.
And, last but certainly not least, MJ. Michael Jackson, the King of Pop. Oh, Michael... Such a tortured soul of a man, and yet one with immeasurable God-given talent. I remember "discovering" Michael Jackson when I was in probably third or fourth grade, when "Thriller" came out. In fact, "Thriller" was either my first or second album purchase ever (the other was Crystal Gayle!), and I LOVED that album. I played it over and over again, even when the song "Thriller" came on and scared the bejeezus out of me time and time again. And the video... don't even get me started. I loved it in the movie "13 Going On 30" when Jennifer Garner's character does the Thriller dance at the company party. That was simply awesome.
Watching MJ self-destruct over the last two decades was painful to watch as he went from being an enormously talented young man with the world at his feet and the respect and adoration of millions upon millions to a strange, physically self-mutilated recluse and late-night joke, who may or may not have been a child molester and seemed to have some serious psychological issues. It seemed as though his social oddities and early affinity for plastic surgery at first just made people confused and uncomfortable, but they were willing to overlook that - for awhile. When the accusations of child sexual abuse entered the picture and his surgical adventures left him look less-than-human, I think it all added up to have a tremendously negative impact on his career, which seemed to in turn send him on an even deeper downward spiral.
After the announcement of his unexpected death yesterday, I know I spent time reflecting upon how I came to know - and love - MJ, and how far I'd drifted away from being a fan over the years. Hearing the radio stations today playing old Jackson 5/Jacksons and MJ songs in honor of his life really reminded me of what an amazing talent he possessed, and what a fundamentally pure-souled person he was. The world definitely lost one of music's most talented people ever yesterday.
I hope this is the end of the Hollywood celeb death cycle for awhile. They say these things happen in threes, and that was certainly the case this week. Very, very sad.
RIP Ed, Farrah and Michael. Rest in peace.
Friday, June 19, 2009
I felt the need for speed.
Have you ever gone go-karting? If not, I highly recommend going out and finding yourself a go-kart track where you can give it a whirl.
It's fun. It's really, REALLY fun.
Expensive, too, at least in this neck of the woods this year. Is it due to rising gas prices? Not sure. But it was $2 more per ticket than last year, which sort of sucks.
In any case, this is an integral part of our annual Super Family family vacation up in the northwoods of Wisconsin, and it's just soooo much fun.
Wait, did I say that already?
The cutest part of this not-to-be-missed annual family ritual is watching Super Boy and my Super Nephew eagerly run up to the "You Must Be This Tall To Ride Alone" sign to see if they've yet hit the mark. You can see the hope-mingled-with-anxiety in their eyes as they spot the sign and race towards it, their adorably muscular little 6- and almost 6-year-old bodies pushing the outer limits of their abilities to see which of them will get there first. Invariably, it is my slightly younger Super Nephew who is a virtual powerhouse of an almost 6-year-old who stands a good inch-and-a-half taller than the already 6-year-old Super Boy.
But Super Boy doesn't care. All he cares about is whether he can ride a go-kart alone yet.
The boys butt their little butts back to the wall and try to stand as tall as they possibly can without cheating and tip-toeing to see how they measure up. In years past, they fell way short of the line, much to their mutual disappointment. This year, they were both just a few inches shy of the line, to their extreme mutual disappointment.
But wait, we tell them. Look how close you are - you two will probably be able to ride alone next year!
Their eyes light up again as this information sinks in, filling them with hope once again. They can hardly wait for next year's vacation, and this one has scarcely even begun.
Given that the boys could not ride alone, the jockeying began to see which of them would get to ride tandem with Super Uncle T. The boys LOVE riding with Super Uncle T, because Super Uncle T goes FAST. My Super Nephew won the first round, because Super Boy rode with Super Man. When my Super Nephew had to ride the next round with his mom, my Super Sister, he told her that she drives like a baby and that he wanted to ride with Super Uncle T because he goes REALLY fast. (Heaven help us.)
Super Boy rode with Super Man, Super Grampa, me and Super Uncle T., and I think I'm the only one who failed the speed trials being unofficially run in Super Boy's mind. Oh well - it's my job to keep him safe, right?
There's nothing like go-karting. The loud rumble of the engine at your back, the wind flying through your hair, miniscule bits of the track being kicked up into your face as you jockey for position with your family members on the track, the herky-jerky steering as you round the tight corners at top speed. It's exhilarating, and for those of us chickens who prefer to stick with vehicles of the four-wheel variety and to moderate-to-fast speed versus balls-out FAST, it's a very safe way to fulfill that occasional need for speed.
I think between me, Super Man and my Super Mom, we took a solid 100 pictures at the go-kart track this week. I can't wait to print them and put them in this year's vacation photo album. They always make me smile. It's a long year waiting for the next annual vacation to roll around again, and it's the pictures of moments like this that make that long wait just a little more bearable.
Speaking of pictures, I can already picture the little boys a year from now, eagerly running up to the sign to find that they've just hit the mark and then delightedly racing to the cars for their maiden solo voyages. Scares the hell out of me a little, to be honest with you, but I know they will be so amazingly proud to finally drive their own go-karts, and they'll have so much fun doing it. I know that with Super Boy's fledgling competitive spirit, it will give him enormous joy to finally race against the rest of us instead of tagging along for the ride, and I'm pretty sure that my Super Nephew will feel the same.
I love family vacation, and I love go-karting. I highly recommend them both.
Happy Summer!
XOXO
SW
It's fun. It's really, REALLY fun.
Expensive, too, at least in this neck of the woods this year. Is it due to rising gas prices? Not sure. But it was $2 more per ticket than last year, which sort of sucks.
In any case, this is an integral part of our annual Super Family family vacation up in the northwoods of Wisconsin, and it's just soooo much fun.
Wait, did I say that already?
The cutest part of this not-to-be-missed annual family ritual is watching Super Boy and my Super Nephew eagerly run up to the "You Must Be This Tall To Ride Alone" sign to see if they've yet hit the mark. You can see the hope-mingled-with-anxiety in their eyes as they spot the sign and race towards it, their adorably muscular little 6- and almost 6-year-old bodies pushing the outer limits of their abilities to see which of them will get there first. Invariably, it is my slightly younger Super Nephew who is a virtual powerhouse of an almost 6-year-old who stands a good inch-and-a-half taller than the already 6-year-old Super Boy.
But Super Boy doesn't care. All he cares about is whether he can ride a go-kart alone yet.
The boys butt their little butts back to the wall and try to stand as tall as they possibly can without cheating and tip-toeing to see how they measure up. In years past, they fell way short of the line, much to their mutual disappointment. This year, they were both just a few inches shy of the line, to their extreme mutual disappointment.
But wait, we tell them. Look how close you are - you two will probably be able to ride alone next year!
Their eyes light up again as this information sinks in, filling them with hope once again. They can hardly wait for next year's vacation, and this one has scarcely even begun.
Given that the boys could not ride alone, the jockeying began to see which of them would get to ride tandem with Super Uncle T. The boys LOVE riding with Super Uncle T, because Super Uncle T goes FAST. My Super Nephew won the first round, because Super Boy rode with Super Man. When my Super Nephew had to ride the next round with his mom, my Super Sister, he told her that she drives like a baby and that he wanted to ride with Super Uncle T because he goes REALLY fast. (Heaven help us.)
Super Boy rode with Super Man, Super Grampa, me and Super Uncle T., and I think I'm the only one who failed the speed trials being unofficially run in Super Boy's mind. Oh well - it's my job to keep him safe, right?
There's nothing like go-karting. The loud rumble of the engine at your back, the wind flying through your hair, miniscule bits of the track being kicked up into your face as you jockey for position with your family members on the track, the herky-jerky steering as you round the tight corners at top speed. It's exhilarating, and for those of us chickens who prefer to stick with vehicles of the four-wheel variety and to moderate-to-fast speed versus balls-out FAST, it's a very safe way to fulfill that occasional need for speed.
I think between me, Super Man and my Super Mom, we took a solid 100 pictures at the go-kart track this week. I can't wait to print them and put them in this year's vacation photo album. They always make me smile. It's a long year waiting for the next annual vacation to roll around again, and it's the pictures of moments like this that make that long wait just a little more bearable.
Speaking of pictures, I can already picture the little boys a year from now, eagerly running up to the sign to find that they've just hit the mark and then delightedly racing to the cars for their maiden solo voyages. Scares the hell out of me a little, to be honest with you, but I know they will be so amazingly proud to finally drive their own go-karts, and they'll have so much fun doing it. I know that with Super Boy's fledgling competitive spirit, it will give him enormous joy to finally race against the rest of us instead of tagging along for the ride, and I'm pretty sure that my Super Nephew will feel the same.
I love family vacation, and I love go-karting. I highly recommend them both.
Happy Summer!
XOXO
SW
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