I’ve done harder things in my life than run a marathon. Stage races when I raced bikes were harder. 2-3 days of grueling 2-4 hour pain or 8 hours at the track. In both cases, despite the fact that you hurt from the first race, you had to suck it up until you finished all of your races. Usually, the kid with the highest pain threshold won. Believe me, this is far worse than having to stay at the table until you finish your brussel sprouts. I’ve survived both. Labor was most definitely harder. But, because running a marathon is relatively special, but widely understood to be excruciating, as with labor, when you’ve finished, you hobble off with a ton of street credibility which somehow makes up for the fact that you are hobbling.

So it went. We set a PR at the half – which isn’t saying all that much at 1:50 – but we were aiming for under 9 minute miles and ended up zipping along a lot more comfortably and faster than anticipated. Comfortable all except my knee which until 13 was manageable, but definitely screaming like a petulant 3 year old who wants candy that she knows she isn’t going to get. At the 14 mile mark feed I was apparently looking pretty pained, and the knee had escalated it’s screaming to the over-tired 3 year old who really just isn’t going to stop until she falls asleep. The PT there pulled me over and stuffed me full of banana while she taped my knee. By this point, things weren’t going so well, and I was considering my options as the course wasn’t getting any flatter and though the tape was sticking, it wasn’t really cutting the pain. I took some advil and somehow ran/walked a few 9+ minute miles to 18 where I was doing more walking than running and sent Doug on his way. We met up at one more feed before parting ways. From 18 to 26.2, I just ran for the cameras. 4:26. The important thing is that I beat the guy in the funny shoes and the 70 year old guy with the bionic knee (no cartilage). I don’t know if I beat the guy with only one leg. It was close.

I’m icing and stretching and hoping to do the Marin Headlands half marathon on 4/3 and perhaps Marin Marathon on 4/25. Gotta keep trying until we get it right.

On my walk to the house, I ran into a neighbor who had seen Sylvie and was very concerned. My first sign that it might not just be a scratch was when I explained I hadn’t seen Sylvie, yet, and he waved his hand across his brow explaining that she’d hit herself there. That’s a large area – the whole brow. Maybe he just didn’t get a good look at exactly where the blood was coming from? You know, heads gush.

1:45 hours, a Bart, a walk, and a drive later, I arrived at the ER. Sylvie had already been seen, and they were waiting for me before discussing the dressing options for her wounds. Yes, wounds. My god, she looked like little frankenstein with crusty blood holding a very intricate butterfly of bandaids to the bridge of her nose and a Van Gogh-esque tourniquet covering the left side of her face. Her previously pink shirt was tye-died with blood and her blonde hair was tinged pink in spots. So, yeah, they weren’t overreacting. I didn’t take a picture because she looked so scary.

I think it is worth mentioning at this point that although I felt like I was going to pass out, Sylvie just looked irritated to be stuck at the hospital. She wasn’t crying; she didn’t look concerned.

We got to business shortly after I arrived. Sylvie removed her bandages so that the doctor could get a good look at the wounds – no tears, just all business, like a tiny robocop. The doc cleaned the cuts, discussed how to close the wounds without leaving scars, and then loaded her up with Fentanyl via a syringe up her nose. In a few minutes, they were back with a board to strap Sylvie to. We’d played up that they were going to wrap her up like a baby so when they returned, she laid down without drama. They asked her to close her eyes like Sleeping Beauty, and then gave her a local. I expected her eyes to pop open at the first prick of the needle, but Sylvie didn’t even flinch! (My eyes were averted through most of this.)

The Sylvie burrito and the needle (note that I’m holding her brow down so that I don’t have to look at her skull):

Exhausted from the stress of the injury, Sylvie fell asleep mid-stitching. About this time our nurse had to leave for fear of fainting. My little angel on the table:

The long story short: Apparently Sylvie had smacked her head on a cubby struggling to remove her sweater. She split the bridge of her nose and about an inch over her left eye. The nose opened up big enough to fit an adult pinky finger, so it required 3 real stitches. The eye was easily taped with 5 steri strips.

All stitched up and ready to go:

On my drive to the ER, I had been thinking about how when I broke my chin open in tap class at 4, my mom brought me right back to do gymnastics just hours after I’d been patched up. Man, she was a tough lady! For the next 4 hours that had seemed absurd. But somehow, as I was driving home with my perky patched 4 year old pleading to go back to school so she could still have her play date, it made sense. I mean, she was all patched up and feeling okay. And, really, if she got this banged up just taking her sweater off, what was I saving her from by having her hang out around the house for the rest of the afternoon? So yeah, she still went on her play date. I know it sounds crazy, but in this situation, you’d probably do the same.

Later in the evening:

Stink eye:

And another:

So she’s all better and taking to her new name – Scarface – a lot better than we’d anticipated. I’m still a little worse for wear.

First stop was the Exploratorium. While this is technically appropriate for 3 and up, since our trip requires an hour drive each way, I think it was probably prudent to have waited until I just had a 5 year old in tow. Even still, we only made it through 3/4 of the exhibits before petering out.

Practicing our chorus line.

Beam me up.

Next stop was Anthropologie. Will found the perfect hat.

“Go sit on that bench and look like you are waiting patiently for your bus”

He’ll stick anything in his nose.

Battling to the death at the toy store.

… I unfortunately missed the gasping for air, tongue extended death sequence at the end of the battle.

Day two, we checked out King Tut. In preparation, I made Will watch videos of Steve Martin singing King Tut. Will claims to have found the exhibit interesting, but much of what I found incredible was lost on him. Well, duh. 19 seems unfathomably old to him, and 9 is twice his age, so he didn’t appreciate just how young the guy was when he became ruler. My attempt to explain how old these artifacts were – 3000 years! and some as old at 7000 years! – was just as successful. “Was Super Grandpa alive, then? Dinosaurs?” Tell the kid that this guy had a hair lip, club foot and degenerative bone disease making him look a little like a monster – AWESOME! So that was something.

Doing the King Tut.

Turns out, Amish quilts are just as exciting as 3000 year old mummies.

Will’s favorite quilt. (Hastily snapped as the guard approached.)

Mommy’s favorite quilt.

We capped the day off with a lesson in Gelato eating. It may be warmer than ice cream, but the brain freeze is just as painful.

Day three we headed down to Chabot Space and Science Museum to kick the tiles on some spaceships. This place puts NASA to shame. Apparently we’ve learned a lot since I was last educated about our solar system. Did you know that none of the four Gas Giants (Jupiter, Saturn, Neptune, and Uranus) have a solid core? And poor Pluto is smaller than our moon? We live on a rocky midget.

A space suit.

Will is too small for space. Or at least this space suit.

Obligatory press shot outside the pod.

Day four, Big Tow made an appearance in his tow truck at the preschool. Will got to ride to and from school in the passenger seat. I didn’t know the kid could smile so big! (No photos on my phone, sorry.)

So that the rest of the family felt better about our week of leisure, over the weekend we hit up the Lego play land in San Anselmo. 600 sqr feet of sorted Legos. Every Lego product ever conceived is accounted for. Boxes upon boxes of pulleys, motors, barbie castle blocks, wheels, train tracks, dinosaur parts, … You name it, they had it. Just opening the door brought back traumatic memories of my brother pummeling me for having touched his motorized Lego dune buggy, and god forbid, using his race car as a Barbie transporter. (What good was creating it if he wasn’t going to let anyone drive it?) My family, all sans traumatic Lego issues, dove right in.

Will’s creation.

Sylvie’s creation.

Dad’s creation.

This week, Sylvie and I went to get her eyes checked out. Apparently, the muscles that control the tracking of our eyes are not fully developed until about 3 years old. So, until that point, it is okay if your child occasionally looks cross-eyed. At 3, the pediatrician checks the muscle development to confirm the eyes have developed at an equal speed. Apparently those big blue eyes of Sylvie’s were difficult to call, so off to the Ophthalmologist we went. The short story is it was a long 3 hour exam, and her eyes are fine.

Smiling for the camera.

An initial evaluation with a pediatric ophthalmologist takes about 3 hours. The battery of tests include the run of the mill identification of progressively smaller and smaller objects (letters for older kids), focus tests – “here watch this while I wave this object in your face”, ability to make out 3-d objects, and whatever they do when your eyes are dilated (I made the resident nervous by asking him to explain so ended up without an explanation). Having now witnessed 4 pediatric eye exams (3 of those completed by nurses), I was quite impressed at how quickly the actual ophthalmologist gauged Sylvie’s verbal skills and temperament and was able to adapt her examination on the fly based on those cues. Note to pediatric nurses: you shouldn’t slap an eye patch on anyone under 4 and then quiz them on the alphabet from across the room. Not unless you are testing their stink-eye reflexes. (Which apparently are advanced in Sylvie.)

Checking stereo vision. Many kids can’t see 3D until 4 or 5 years of age. Someone should inform Pixar.

It takes 45 minutes + a burrito break for eyes to dilate fully. That burrito just looks big because she is so small.

All that work was exhausting.

In other foodie news, when I traveled to India for the first time several years ago, I discovered real Indian food. Sure, I’d had the americanized version in the states many times, but by comparison, our imitation is more a parody of the real thing. Theirs was incredible! Needless to say, I ate all that I could on that trip and resolved to learn how to make it myself. Unfortunately, my husband is not a fan and my children have gringo palates (Sylvie complained about the heat of her barbecue sauce, yesterday), so I haven’t made much progress. Until today.

I came home from work to find *The Vegetarian Epicure* by Anna Thomas on my doorstep. (Thanks, Mom!) Paging through it I found that Baco-bits are vegetarian and ran across a recipe for dal. Figuring if any American had figured out how to replicate real Indian dal, it would probably be that ole hippie, Anna, I attempted her recipe, tonight, with channa dal I had sitting around. The verdict: with a few tweaks, it passes.

Dal (revised to taste more like the real dal)
1.5 c moong or urad or channa dal or yellow split peas
4 c water
1 tsp sat
Wash the dal then bring the dal + water + salt to a boil. Stir often and cook until the dal becomes soft. You may need to add more water depending on the freshness of your dal.

3 Tbs butter or ghee
1 tsp cumin seeds
1 tsp ground tumeric
1/2 inch cinnamon stick
1 tsp cayenne (it isn’t authentic unless you sniffle at first bite)
1/4 tsp ground ginger (1 knuckle grated fresh is best!)
1/4 tsp ground coriander (or 1/2 tsp coriander seed)
1/2 tsp mustard seed
6 whole cloves
Heat the butter/ghee until it bubbles. Add the spices and toast for a few minutes until aromatic. Add this mixture to your dal. At this point add a cup or so more of water if your dal has cooked dry. Simmer until you have a fairly thick soup. The more you simmer, the deeper the flavors. If you want to make this taste more like what you’d find in Delhi? Prepare this over your charcoal grill. Serve with warm roti/chipati.

One of the more exciting things about CSAs for me is the exposure to new foods. It was through Eatwell that we years ago learned about green garlic (the first crop of young garlic which resembles green onions in shape and texture, but has a buttery garlic taste reminiscent of shallots) and fava beans. Our very first box contained both which we improvised into a shrimp/fava scampi. Today, we were introduced to romanesco and tatsoi. The former is a fractal looking broccoli and the latter is a peppery green.

Of course there are good years and bad years. The last year we subscribed, we amassed a cellar of potatoes and onions and were completely unable to keep up with the kale production in both our garden and our farm. That summer, the farm was hit with mediterranean fruit flies depriving us all the best fruits of summer (tomatoes, peppers, eggplant…). We ultimately canceled, up to our ears in potatoes. Thankfully, during our hiatus, the farm grew a bit and is now able to offer one of the best produce selections in the area. So, with as much produce as my kids consume at lunch these days, I decided we’d get back in the CSA.

Interested in finding a CSA near you? Check out LocalHarvest.org

Our box this week:
romanseco, carrots, tatsoi, kale/mustard greens, spinach, daikon radishes, cilantro, oranges, lemons, leeks, and 6 fresh eggs

What we’re eating:

• Tonight: tatsoi + pear + raspberry + smoked salmon salad – just wash and toss everything in a vinaigrette.
• Tomorrow: Spinach pizza; Green garlic pizza
• Saturday: breakfast of biscuits with spinach and egg scrambles; vietnamese sandwiches for dinner to use the cilantro/radishes/carrots
• Sunday: spinach dip + chips, apple+greens slaw and tofu dogs, beer/root beer
• Monday: Veggie Cobb Salad with fake-on, cheese, hard boiled eggs, romanesco, the remaining greens, green beans (+ capers and anchovies for the nicoise fans)
• Lunches for the brown-eyed pair: Leek and asparagus soup

Oh, and tonight, I remarked when checking Sylvie after a bathroom visit, “Oooh, Sylvie, that was big!” only to have Will run into the bathroom, “Let me see! How big was it mom? Show me with your hands! Was it this big? Bigger than this?”