Garlic and Onions

It's only a week into 2014, and already we've had ups and downs this year.  January 1st was magnificent.  One of those easygoing, happy family days where everyone is in a good mood.  We took a long walk which included some grocery shopping.  I love that the twins are old enough now that strollers, carts, etc are not always necessary, and sometimes even inconvenient.  They are perfectly capable of walking a few blocks, hopping through the snow, carrying an item or two.  I love that I have a crowd with me: of talking, laughing (sometimes crying), thinking people.

 (Can you tell I'm so relieved to say goodbye to infancy?!)  We are definitely in a sweet stage.  The kiddos are happy to play with each other, haven't yet adopted attitudes about who's cool or not, and still love to cuddle and occasionally take naps.  At the store, we bought a spiraled ham and Hazel picked out a package of dried beans off the shelf.  Before putting it back, I realized it was a soup mix that would go great with leftover ham.  Tada!  Two meals down!

Well, I made the soup for dinner the 2nd day of January.  Loved it.  Until an hour later when the smell of the garlic and onions I had sauteed really started to get to me.  January 3rd began with nausea and a weakness that, I'm telling you, felt like I was pregnant with... triplets.  Remember what I said about getting out of infancy?  Yeah, lets keep it that way!  I'm definitely not pregnant, but I couldn't figure out what was wrong.  I still felt like the whole house reeked with garlic and onions from last night.  When I was pregnant with the twins, garlic was one of the smells I absolutely abhorred.  It has occasionally gotten to me since.  But this was an extreme reaction, which knocked the wind from my sails, and everything else out both ends.  

I spent the day barely upright, only attempting to keep the kids clean or fed.  Luckily Tyler works from home and was able to step in a lot throughout the day.  Of course, that meant he worked late into the night after the kids were asleep, while I laid in bed and watched a movie.  I love him.  

I knew as soon as I opened my eyes the next morning, I was in the clear.  I felt 90% better, which meant I could eat, walk, play, get dressed, and attend to the family as usual.  Good thing too, because this crew just can't handle an invalid mommy!  Lincoln kept looking at me and asking, "What's wrong?!  Why are you all.... tired and stuff?  Your smile is a line, and it's wobbly."  Ha!  My wobble turned upward at that, even if for only a second.  He's a poet in the making.  

Since moving to Heber, I've been running regularly.  This town feels safe.  The traffic is slow, the roads are quiet, and the scenery is breathtaking.  I love running in the cold, when the only other faces I see are behind windows of idling cars at the drive-thru or a stoplight.  I know I look crazy, bundled in gloves and a balaclava, leaping gingerly over patches of ice.  I am also not a graceful or fast runner.  But I'm old enough not to care now, because I'm running for no one else but me.  Right now, running feels good.  I feel the most me, more than when I'm doing anything else.  I wonder what a brain scan would like for me while running.  Whatever parts of it are activated, or whatever hormonal cocktail I've got pumping, is the formula I'd like to replicate every other living moment of the day.  Wouldn't it be great to be less anxious, more peaceful and clear-headed and satisfied.  

My guess is that we all choose our hobbies because of the way they make us feel.  As my kids get older and go to school, I hope I fill up the void with more things that make me feel like me.  I probably won't be sautéing garlic and onions very frequently, I'll tell you that!