I am going crazy getting things ready for our school year at the preschool. I spent the entire day on the phone…and I hate talking on the phone, which is why my eyes are bugging out of my head and my hair is standing on end and I’m screaming in horror at the thought of the phone ringing for the 1,000th time.

Thank goodness we are all still sick and no one minds staying inside all day in their pajamas. Kade is suspect though. He keeps going to the door telling me that it isn’t raining so why are we inside and still wearing our jams.

I, on the other hand, managed to put on my favorite blue dress, my strand of pearls, and candy-red lipstick….because nothing says stay-at-home, frazzled   mama like red lips.

I need to do a recap of my 18-miler (thanks for the nudge, Courtney), tell the tale of my near-death experience this morning with an SUV, complain about all the registrar duties I’m “voluntarily” buried under and give cute little reports on all the hilarious, adorable, annoying and absolutely frustrating things my children have done…but I’m sick. My head feels like it weighs 1,000 pounds….999 of which are snot. Seriously, I have been constantly blowing my nose for two days. The mistake is that I tried to convince myself that this was allergies and not the super crappy cold that Kyle has been toting around for over a week. When I woke up at 4:40 for an 8 mile run, I didn’t heed caution to the sandpaper in my throat, the itchy ears, the stuffy, foggy head…no, I took a zyrtec, headed out the door, ran 8.5 miles, and successfully wore myself out to the point of exhaustion. We ran errands all morning…spreading our germs (Kade’s got it too) all over Cleveland (hey, I had to get tissues), and now the kids are sleeping and I’m going to join them as soon as I finish this sentence.

The trick to recovering from a long run is to pack the rest of the day full of activities that force you to be on your feet until you literally collapse into your bed that night. The Feast is tomorrow and I’m hoping we can head down to the overly-crowded, Little Italy party before going to our neighbor’s 3rd birthday bash. Then we are off to Sandusky on Sunday morning for Skip’s showing and funeral. My dad didn’t answer his phone yesterday when I called. I think he’s still having a hard time talking about it.

I just ordered Liv’s birthday present. It’s a kick-ass dollhouse that I can’t wait to play with. I always wanted a dollhouse as a kid, and I know that Liv will love it. I showed it to Kade and he made sure that boys are allowed to play with it too (this kid is really into gender roles). They play really well together, so this should only enhance it. My plan is to keep it as nice as possible so she can pass it on to her kiddos someday (if she decides to have them), or her brother’s kiddos (if he decides to have them), or charity (if neither decides to have them). The point is…I want it to be something special.

Now I have to figure out where I’m going to put the 33 adults and 18 children I’ve invited to Liv’s party. Maybe I should ask Walgreen’s if we can use their parking lot? Don’t even ask what I’ll do if it rains. Nothing like a little stress to get your blood sugar going…

**Ok, so the Feast is next weekend. I’m entitled to a mistake once in a while…**

I can’t remember a time when Skip wasn’t a part of our lives. As a kid, he was always the reason my dad was in trouble. I lost count of how many times we’d have to pick my dad and Skip up after they drank one too many beers in order to cool down from the 90 degree heat of the factory.

If my dad needed help with a project, Skip was the first to volunteer. I remember happily playing in our upstairs playroom when Skip’s legs and feet suddenly appeared through the ceiling. Thankfully he was alright, but the roofing job’s budget was instantly increased. He helped with the daunting, 5 year task of renovating my grandparent’s victorian monster. He did countless fix-it jobs around our house. He helped with all our major family parties and events…usually at the bar, but it was still help. He had a heart of gold and would do anything and everything he could to offer a hand.

Skip never married. He lived in the country, on a farm with chickens and goats and hay and all things foreign to a kid who grew up in the city. I absolutely loved going out there.

On a visit with my dad, I asked for a drink (I was about 8 at the time). Skip gave me a glass of milk, but the cup was in the shape of a boob. He didn’t have any other clean cups. My dad got a laugh and I got a quick lesson on the female anatomy. Total bachelor.

Our area was hit with tornadoes in the early 90’s. We heard on the radio that the area that Skip lived in was in shambles. My dad couldn’t get through to find out if he was ok. They lifted the warnings and my dad and I jumped in the car to get to him. The police wouldn’t even let us near his street, let alone house because the damage was so extensive. I can remember the fear in my dad’s eyes when he thought Skip had been hurt.

When Skip was diagnosed with lung cancer 2 years ago, he vowed to fight it with all he had. Both of my parents took time off of work to drive him to Cleveland for radiation and chemo. My dad would have been with him at every session if he could. He knew how much Skip had been there for him over the years, and I know he wanted to repay him. The cancer spread. It attacked his brain and it stole his life. He refused to give up even when he knew the end was near. He would fight the pain, nausea, extreme exhaustion and weakness in order to continue to work. He was independent and refused to move in with anyone until he could no longer be safely left alone. He was surrounded by his family when he took his final breath and was released from the pain.

Thank you, Skip for being a part of our lives, for being the brother that my dad never had, for allowing us to hold on to hope and to believe that death is not the end, but the beginning. You will be missed.

The first thing we did upon our arrival was drink wine. There is no better start to a vacay than a glass of some fancy sounding spanish red.

That glass was followed by another one…then we went back to Britt and Marc’s ab-fab apartment and prepped for an evening on the town. We were heading to Avec (thanks to Chef’s Widow for securing us a table at the nearly impossible to get into hotspot) but we had some time to kill so we stopped at Sepia for a drink. When I saw this dish on the menu I immediately fell in love and decided we needed an appetizer.

Heaven on a plate folks…my two favorite things…seared scallops and pork belly. Who could ask for anything more?

Evidently we could, because there was a hell of a lot more to follow at Avec. Like this little number…

which had to be one of the most wonderfully surprising things I have ever tasted. This chorizo stuffed date was sweet and spicy and complex and left me wanting more. The atmosphere was vibrant and fun, the service was awesome, and we got to catch up with my sister and brother-in-law, which was the best part of the night.

We went to a club, then a bar, then a balcony where I apparently smoked a cigar, and woke up the next day with a headache and a promise to “never do that again” (the drinking part…not the eating part…I would give anything to do that again.)

Somehow we all managed to get ready and made it to Lolla. It was hot and I was feeling pretty shitty, but Yeasayer is a great cure for a hangover. There weren’t many chick bands, but the ones that were there totally rocked. CSS was so much fun. It was a total performance and it left me wanting more. I’m a complete Black Kids groupie now and MGMT came through with my favorite song…”Electric Feel.” The highlight of the entire three days though was the Black Keys performance. Their haunting sound came across even better live. I cannot wait to go to another one of their shows (hint, hint…Kyle).

I won’t bore you with details of each of the three days (Kyle has a good synopsis on his site), but despite the trials and tribulations of diabetes and throwing in a Saturday morning 16-miler, this was one of the most memorable weekends of my life. Here’s why:

Spending four days with three of the most important people in my life was something I will never forget. I cannot thank you enough, Kyle, Britt, and Marc, for this unbelievable experience. Here’s to next year…

I have three goals…to have a crazy awesome time, to get through my 16 miler on Saturday, and to keep some semblance of control over my diabetes. I’m more than a little anxious about leaving the kids for 4 days, but I know they are in good hands. The last time I was away from Kade this long was over 2 years ago for my brother-in-law’s Punta Cana wedding. I’ve never been away from Liv for more than 2 days. It makes absolutely no sense that I want so badly to get away yet still be with them at the same time. They may trigger an urge to rip each of my hairs out individually, but I’m madly in love with them and I’m going to miss them like crazy.

She is beautiful, strong, intelligent, stylish, and perpetually 5 years younger than me. The world is at her fingertips, and I am so proud of how far she has reached to grab it.

Happy Birthday, Brittany…I can’t wait to celebrate Chicago-style.

It got me all excited for my upcoming Saturday, 16 miler along Chicago’s beautiful lakeshore. I needed the extra inspiration because I’ll probably be sporting a hangover, coupled with only a few short hours of sleep. (I haven’t seen my sister in 2 months, and I can guarantee that we will be living it up rockstar-style).

I don’t think this shirt is going to see much running, though. It’s too damn cute to risk it’s becoming another perpetually funky piece of workout gear. Wicking fabric does wonders to keep you dry on a run, but it works almost too well. It doesn’t even want to let the sweat go when you wash it. My well-earned, super-comfy, prized Akron marathon shirt lies crumpled in my drawer due to it’s way too noticeable stink. I will not let this one fall victim to the same fate.