I refuse to talk politics. Not my thing. I’ll offend someone by saying something I have no real education on. My politics are baseball. That’s what I like and choose to talk about. So instead of really touching on the election I figure this little intro is enough. Instead I’ll jump into my struggle and for me it’s a big one. Running. Three years ago when Maia was born the challenge of finding time to work out was big. As a working mom with a newborn a two year old and a home didn’t exactly allow for the easiest schedule for me to selfishly grab an hour to get a work out in and I wasn’t about to get up at 4 or 5 am to race to the gym after night feedings. I’ve consistently worked out my entire life but it was always at my convenience so this was new to me and in order to get me through it I fell back in love with running. Something I could do whenever, in any weather, at literally any time and I do. I run in the rain, the dark, the blazing sun, the snow, the ice etc. I basically will run in anything but a tornado. I run at night in the morning at lunch. You get my point. It’s been my outlet. I trained for a half marathon followed by the Boston marathon then some small races here and there all in the last three years. I’m obviously extreme. With that said I’ve consistently been running for the last three years and for everyone that knows me its my mental outlet. I run and cook. So speed up to last week I’m base training for Boston again and my runs got cut short and I could barely walk because of knee pain. Now knee pain is not something new for me. I’ve had arthroscopic surgery to remove cartilage damage from a torn mcl and lcl. Countless hours of physical therapy (in fact my very first knee physical therapist is a close friend of mine 10 years later). Anyway, pain tolerance in my left knee is very high so when a doctor says “use your body to judge your pain” that doesn’t necessarily work for me. I will run until I can’t. Literally. I have what’s called a baker’s cyst nicely resting on the back of my knee and it gets larger and smaller depending on the workout that’s been with me for 3 years. All of these small anomalies make up me and have for so long that as I age I’m not really paying attention to the pain itself. Well the pain got so bad I made an appointment with our team doctors -working for the Red Sox allows access to some of the best in business. What’s good enough for Pedroia, Mookie, and Ortiz is certainly good enough for me and when these doctors speak I listen. Now I made the appointment with the full intention of having them look at my MRI and tell me they’d do a quick arthroscopy and my pain would be fine id be up and about in a week and back to training for Boston or maybe not necessarily training this year (which would be crushing because I’m mentally prepared) but definitely next year. So I limped into the office every step at a 10 for pain and waited. Went through the normal what’s going on blah blah blah. Then he looked at my MRI and said 7 words that took my breath away and left my head spinning. “This knee should never be running marathons” then followed it up with “in fact this knee probably shouldn’t be running at all”. Now I’m not being dramatic here my world stopped. I stopped. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Huh?? This knee? What knee? Certainly not my knee. What about the arthroscopic surgery I’m supposed to get? When do we talk about that? That’s certainly the solution. That never happened. I was given another doctor’s name – a specialist to deal with my sort of knee issue. You see at 37 they don’t exactly jump at doing an entire knee replacement so there’s another surgery with a 6 month recovery that I’m believed to be a “candidate” for. Candidate for? What?? I want to be a candidate to bq (Boston qualify) not a candidate to do a knee surgery that ends in a 6 month recovery. This can’t be happening. Well it is. I can’t run. Something I love as a top 4 favorite behind Emma, Maia, and Raj (and some days raj and running fight for their spot). It’s my outlet admittedly my addiction so now what?! A break? Not possible. One week later I’m itching. It’s in everyone’s best interest if I run. And I do mean everyone. It gets me through hard days, it gets me through tragedy, triumph, and all tribulations. It clears my head. Hard to explain but it’s mine. No one else’s. My runs are me. Being told no is world shattering for me with all the exaggerations included. I’m bummed. I pictured some day running Boston with my girls. I pictured running forever. So today I start a 3 month intense stint of PT and in two weeks I meet with a surgeon. All of this will get me to be able to run 3 miles regularly with little pain. Seems like a lot for a little right? Well, I’ll take what I can get at this point and figure out my next outlet. In the meantime my running playlist will continue to grow with great songs. And in the words of one of my favorite Pearl Jam songs “just breathe”. 

This renovation has been fine and complaining seems selfish in a lot of ways but this blog is for me and it’s for me to look back at this adventure and see how we got here. So complain I will it’s my outlet. I never believed it would be pretty or easy. I’m a realist. I try to see the good in most everything (and complain through it all but see the good nonetheless). There’s progress. The house looks awesome from the outside. It’s far exceed my expectations. It fits in, doesn’t look “new” and feels beautiful. I love it. 
The inside well that’s a different story right now. My kitchen is still a challenge. I can’t cook in it. I’ve been using my crockpot and microwave which I basically lit on fire and it ended up outside for a couple days (true story) to air out. I don’t use a microwave to cook who does?? 

The bathroom. This situation is the most difficult. We have to be showered by 7am every day but Sunday. There’s one functioning shower and showering by 7 doesn’t seem strange but it’s freezing. There’s no heat in the part of the house where the shower exists and it’s basically an igloo but with wooden boards. It’s scary and dark and not fun. I will openly admit it’s wearing on me. I don’t like it. 

My current bedroom is a closet. Literally. Rajs clothes are hanging up in this bedroom and my former shelves from my previous closet are on top of our bureau. It’s a closet and it’s hard. It’s hard to find clothes it’s hard to put clothes away. It’s hard. 

Enter the container store. I am containing myself. That’s getting me through this. I go to the container store and buy everything from blackboard tape to chalk pens to turn tables to containers. It’s my safe place right now. I love it in there. Something about the organization that can occur as a result of just walking into the store has me calm. It’s filling the “cooking” void in the cook and run philosophy I have to get me through life. It #containsme. No joke. 

This post doesn’t make much sense in that it has no real purpose other than to jot down my current thoughts and thoughts they are. That’s the update!

Welcome to Wellesley. Halloween is a national holiday here. It’s planned out and flyers go around a month prior. It’s epic and indescribable and it’s literally one of the reasons you move to my neighborhood. I’m not kidding. People come from other streets to partake in the best block party Wellesley has to offer followed by the loop parade. I am fortunate to live on “the loop” and I’m jealous of myself when Halloween happens. We start the day with Maia’s preschool parade which literally melts my heart to see her becoming her own little person in her own little world. Much like her sister when we were leaving the festivities all her friends were yelling “bye Maia bye Maia” as a mom that’s what you want – to know your child is fitting in and not feeling alone. In fact that’s all I want at this age. I don’t want her to feel out of place or scared, sad, or alone. I could care less if she knows how to count to 20 right now. That will come in time she’s 3. I just want her heart happy and it seems as though it is. 

Back to Halloween. We Bhangoos love Halloween. It’s my husband’s favorite holiday. He goes all out. He dresses up, usually decorates the outside (construction limited that to actual caution tape this year), he carves pumpkins, puts on Halloween music, drinks pumpkin ale, and hands out candy. He is Mr. Halloween and he caves at whatever the girls want him to dress up as. This year I handmade him a Marlin costume and I was Dory. It’s real serious. That said, there will come a point soon when they don’t want us to dress up or follow them around. In fact, Emma literally did NOT want to trick or treat with us and was crying when trick or treating began and she had no one (although there were hundreds, yes hundreds of children running around from door to door. As you can imagine the crying ended real fast when she got in the mix of a two other girls one from her class and a new friend. Just like that they ran from door to door skipping across the street in sheer delight giggling and yelling “this one next” “No this one next”. Tinkerbell happily sauntered in the back with Marlin and was perfectly content going to each house on her own carefully selecting her candy. Halloween is just pure bliss there’s nothing upsetting about it. Free candy, friends, and the best neighborhood in the world. It’s awesome and I’m grateful and lucky. And it kept me out of my house. Happy Halloween.