neti pot- a cornucopia of fun- for your nose!!!

When I had my tonsils out two years ago, I thought that would be it. And the thing is, I have been pretty healthy. But my body's new thing are annoying sinus infections. And the fuckers are debilitating. When the children shout and yell you want to crawl onto the floor and put a pillow over your head. Bending over induces throbbing pain. And you can't sleep because just when you drift off, both nostrils fill up with mucus and you can't breathe. And breathing through your mouth dries out your throat, making it sore.

Bet you can tell I've been one cranky, crazy-ass bitch to live with. Yes, I've had moments of embellishment in my life as a patient, but this isn't one of them.

"Welcome to my world!" an allergy-prone Scot chimed in on Wednesday night.

But no, I wanted him to know my pain and aggravation was much worse than his. The following statement came hot on the heels of reading Brittany Murphy's cause of death from anemia and pneumonia.

"Just so you know, I've warned you. In case I don't wake up or something."

A little drama never hurt anyone. Maybe I'd get his attention. Or sympathy. He laughed. He also didn't intervene when I made homemade mashers with 102- degree swine flu fever. Men will let you do as much as you're willing to do, I've learned.

However, Scot did clear out of here with the kids yesterday. I took to the couch with Patrick, and listened to mens' snowboarding downhill. I looked like Farrah Fawcett when she made The Burning Bed. My face was swollen from fluid, and huge bags had formed under my eyes. I couldn't muster the strength for laundry. Oh wait.. I never feel that good. Dinner was leftovers and extra desserts for the children. Anything to keep the volume down.

Today, the antibiotic kicked in. I feel the best I've felt in over a week. I made lunch for the kids and hauled our asses to the supermarket. I feel accomplished.

And I bought a neti pot. My sister swears by the little teapot you run through your sinuses. And I'm sick of treating my whole body with meds when all I have is goopy fungus in my nose.

Anybody had an success with a neti pot? Cause to be honest, I'm a little scared. I hate sticking crap up my nose. Never have understand how people could snort stuff.

It's okay to have 2 beers, 1/2 a burger, fries, chocolate truffles and calimari as a reward, right?

Ethan's Run - After

There is an age bracket in running that is highly competitive.

My age group - naturally.

And here's why; we are 30-39 year olds. We are trying to salvage any half-way decent body parts we have left. We are trying to prove that we are still capable of doing the unthinkable- exercise for an hour, non-stop, without wetting our pants. And we are too time-strapped and cheap to join a gym. So we hit the great outdoors, and we run ( I also run to stave off anxiety and depression. Cause when you are exhausted you don't have the energy to be depressed that you are no longer 22 and men now call you ma'am ).

Scot and I did well. We wanted to do the 6.2 mile run in under an hour. We did it in exactly 54.47. That's a 8:49 minute mile. I was thrilled. A personal best.

It was a beautiful day. Cloudy with dark clouds looming on the horizon. Temperature around 60 degrees. The setting was a large subdivision in Mesa, Arizona. It was hilly with desert scape and a lot of waterfalls and rocks. There were 261 runners. Tons of fresh-scrubbed families with babies to root on the runners. Some of the participants had photos taped to their backs. In the photo would be a baby or child they know. Usually the photo was taken in a hospital, with a tiny baby suffering under the weight of tubes and cords, and machines in the background. Every mile marker featured a different child that was born with a heart defect. You couldn't help but stare at the image as you ran past.

I'm glad I was there. I thought of Ryleigh and all the other poor babies that fight every day just to survive. I'm sorry her and Ethan had to go. Life is not fair.

I finished 102nd out of 261, but only 30 out of 73 for my age group. I'll keep running. I've got causes to contribute to, a time to beat, and several womens' asses I'd like to beat.

Yeah, I know. If I didn't eat all that crap, I'd probably get faster. But ya know, gotta live.

Ethan's Run

Scot and I were looking for a run to do. We found this one. It benefits children with heart defects.

We are doing it with Ryleigh in mind.

I got a new MP3 player. It holds 2 gigs and was only $8!!!!!! Keep in mind my old one held only 40 songs. I got it back in 2005 and it cost $100. Ever-changing technology is an amazing thing.

My clothes are laid out, and Mary is coming to watch the kids at 7:00 a.m.

I love the excitement the night before a race.

I'm turning in soon.

I've got a sinus infection.

And shinsplints.

Ethan's parents will be there tomorrow. They lost their son when he was six months old. My brother-in-law will never fully recover from the grief he is going through for losing Ryleigh.

I feel lousy, but I couldn't care less. If my kids weren't healthy, it would destroy me. I'd take sharp sticks in the eyes to shield them from injury or sickness.

And so we run!!!

Happy Running!

Olympic Moment

I asked a friend if she's been watching the Olympics. I didn't think she would say "no." What? Who doesn't watch the Olympics?

What else on TV is as exciting or as dramatic as watching The Flying Tomato do a double-half-caf- triple 720? How often do you see someone's dreams dashed for catching an edge on their ski twenty feet from the starting gate?

It's fascinating, edge-of-your-seat viewing that stands as a constant reminder. Buckling down and working hard can have such great rewards.

I remember watching the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics. Maggie was four months old. We were house-bound and poor; Scot has lost his job a week after Maggie was born. We watched every night, till late into the night. The Olympics offered us a taste of what we needed; a distraction from our situation and a reminder that even though each athlete (person) might not win the game/run/race(job) , they still worked hard enough to gain entry to the greatest show on Earth, the Olympics (a job interview).

My families greatest athletic accomplishment was competitive shopping. But growing up we were avid watchers of the Olympics. My dad would uncharacteristically scream for Team U.S.A. and for two weeks my mom knew everything there was to know about basketball. Back in 2004, my parents watched the opening ceremonies of the Athens games from their armchairs. On a whim, two days later, they booked flights and flew to Greece. I turned on the TV one day to see my mom standing on the sidelines of The Today Show From Athens. She waved as the camera panned past her, a million fans, and Katie Couric. One of the greatest thrills in their spectator life was watching the Olympic marathoners ending their run in the stadium.

With so much passion, time and energy involved, the only athletes that bug me are the ones who don't weep, cry, or scream when they win or lose. When Lindsay Jacobellis did a hot-dog move on her snowboard back in 2006, she fell and ruined her touchable taste of gold. In an interview this year, she shrugged it off as just something that happened. But could she really shrug off years of training and sweat?

My message to Lindsey - Hell no girl!!! Don't act cavalier. Admit it was a dumb ass move made by a young, excited girl. And then admit it hurt - it hurt like hell to lose it.

But she didn't. Part of me was glad when she went out-of-bounds and was disqualified this week. I want her to beg, break-down, grovel, and so desire this medal that we all want to hand it to her on a silver charger. But to me, for the past two Olympics, she hasn't seemed to want it enough. I would also send this message out to Body Miller.

Lindsay Vonn on the other hand- that girl wanted it. She skied on a shin so painful that she favored the leg, holding it up in the air. By doing that, she risked catching an edge and falling. And this was after a wrist injury last year. And some other injury before that. The woman has not been without some sort of injury in the last year and a half. And when she won yesterday, she wept. She cried in her husband's arms and thanked him. And she continued her guttural wails long after he told her to stop crying . She cried because early mornings, aching muscles and a life put on hold had finally paid off.

Last May, I was seated in the stadium at Sun Devil Stadium at Arizona State University. Two years of personal and financial sacrifice, endless hours studying, and wondering if it was all worth it were coming to an end for Scot. A large group of bagpipers started a procession into the arena. Behind them filed in my husband and his MBA classmates. I was caught off guard by the tears I felt stream down my cheeks. I was caught up in watching Scot's own moment of glory.

Yesterday, I watched the TV and cried right along with Lindsay Vonn. I saw the effort and the years that single moment took. Watching success happening in its most precious, raw moment should be motivational fuel for us all.

How could you not want to watch that?

Dear Vera,

Dear Vera,

Looks like you were already all over it.
Thank you for rescuing Evan Lysacek. Even if he was sprouting feathers from his fingers and his skate was entitled "Firebird", it is better than waterfowl and silver lame.

Sincerely,

Nancy

Dear Vera Wang,

Dear Vera,

Greetings old friend!

I hope this finds you well. I know Monique Lhuillier has caught the Wedding Dress Designer Bouquet, but you'll always be known as the pioneer of the frill-less, less-is-more modern bride.

With that in mind, I believe this might be the time for you to reemerge as the Costume Designer To The Skaters. I know you are busy plastering your name on eyeglasses, perfume and stationery, but this is so important. This could save the world. Or at least the poor spectators sitting in ice rinks with the likes of Johnny Weir on the loose. One need not have waterfowl appliqued on their thorax to skate well. What you did for me back in 1994 was simple. And it worked. Hell, people are still talking about it!

So, my Rolodex is open and waiting. We could start with Johnny, and then move on to Yevgeny Plushenko and finally tackle the entire Ukraine team.

Cheers my friend!

Nancy Kerrigan

Soak up the Sun

I'm gonna soak up the sun. And fold some laundry out back. And in about 2 hours crack a beer. Current temp: 72.
Don't hate. I will be so jealous of all you folks when it's June and 117 here. These here are our glory days.

Peace, out!

Soak Up The Sun- Sheryl Crow

Low Rider

"Are any of these yours?" is what the email from Scot said. He had attached the photos (above)

When we lived in San Francisco I had a bit of an anger issue with poor parkers and loud alarms. So much so that I fashioned a couple of generic "nastygrams". I stuck these pre-written notes in the sun visor. Then, I waited for the opportune time, whipped it out, and stuck it under the offenders wiper blade.

So, these got a big laugh out of me. I don't miss the parallel/double park/manic alarm woes of city life, but I get satisfaction in seeing I'm not the only freakin' -crazy -passive- aggressive driver out there.

My personal favorite is the one done in fancy wedding font. They went out of their way and had them printed! NICE TOUCH!

Title from "Low Rider" by War.
Check out my ladies at right for more summertime music titles and lyrics.

The Bet

We love you Tom! And you too, Peg!

For the past week, my mom has been in Puerto Vallarta. Every year, my parents would join their friends, Tom and Peg, for a mid-winter's week on the beach. Not wanting to break tradition, my mom went alone this year. Over margaritas the first night, Tom handed my mom $100. My mom looked questionably at Tom. What was the money for?

My dad's best friend was Tom. The two met almost thirty years ago, while we lived in New Jersey. Tom and his wonderful wife, Peg, were introduced to my parents through friends. As fate would have it, the intermediary friendship fell apart, but Tom and my dad grew closer. It was an unlikely friendship. As liberal and crazy as my father was, Tom is pious and measured. While my dad gave money to Obama's campaign, Tom is an ardent Republican. My dad believed in marriage for everyone. Tom, he is a Southern Baptist. But their common bonds were stronger than political and religious affiliations. They would laugh at the same things, and sought out New Mexican restaurants together. My dad and Tom would talk about the stock market for hours. Tom is fiscally conservative, squirreling away money for the day he won't be around. For the past 15 years Tom has battled lymphoma. He has been in-and-out of the hospital, and had a couple of close calls. But he has persevered, and hung on for more of this fun ride. As Tom and my dad got older, they would talk about dying; if they were scared, what it would be like, and all those weighty questions . The two of them were like little old ladies discussing their feelings, and even had their own "bucket lists".

Last February, Tom and Norm took their last trip together. It was before my dad was diagnosed with cancer. While the ladies took in Copper Canyon's shopping, the boys sat chatting at an outdoor cafe. The discussion turned to their mortality. Tom swore he would go first. After all, he had the more serious health condition. My dad had pulmonary fibrosis, but things had been going well. But still, my dad swore it would be him. And back and forth it went. It started to get heated and finally my dad suggested a wager.

$100 bet. Loser would be winner. :)

Dear Diary, (my friends)

My mom left for a week in Puerto Vallerta yesterday. She's joining great family friends, Tom and Peg. I hope she sits on the beach every day, surrounded by fresh fish and margaritas.

Nora has bronchitis. Poor lamb has been sick since Wednesday. I took her to the doc today as she had sprouted a fever. We have the best doc in the world. We has swamped but he managed to get us in today. I left with 5 prescriptions; I always feel it's been worth it if I score on the pharmaceuticals. We're hoping the meds kick in for Nora soon.

I did the damn homework. Uh oh. Looks like it's been stepped up to 38 terms. This might require 3 weeks of memorization, round-robin and spelling. Scot told me I'll probably have points deducted for typing the assignment.

We had the most fantastic grilled chicen with Caribbean citrus and caper sauce last night. Mark Bittman rules. Check out his book , The Best Recipes in the World.

Night Night. :)

Ciao.