Sell It To Me

The term "Sell It To Me" came from a former boyfriend. His children were younger than mine and he had limits on their computer, video or gaming usage. This included other reasonable rules that were implemented.

In the name of compromise, every so often he would relent on various child-rearing restrictions by allowing his children the opportunity to do the following: They would have to "sell it to him" as to why they should be allowed to do the activity. Perhaps it was staying up a wee bit later, playing 15 minutes more on the trampoline, or a little bit more time on the computer. This was not a daily occurrence and to me seemed like a good lesson for children on the art of negotiation or compromise.

At the time two of my children were fairly independent, one in college and one in high school. My youngest was in middle school. I shared his parenting technique, "Sell It To Me" to my daughter Shelby and she said it sounded like a good idea.

That should have been a warning to me. If I had remembered when she had learned how to write persuasive letters and essays in elementary school I would have remembered how she convinced me to get her a feral kitten who single-hand-idly wreaked havoc upon our little home. I would have remembered how she persuaded her dad to get her a bunny, or Pottery Barn for Kids to makeover her bedroom or Christmas or birthday suggestions she had handwritten for both her dad and I, post-divorce.

But no, I did not remember any of it. I wish had remembered how, as a teacher, I am impressed with a well-crafted letter or essay and how I could succumb to the written word. I only thought it was an opportunity to hone in on her skills. Or her brother and sister could hone theirs too. 

If I had remembered Shelby's skills, perhaps I would have also remembered her brother or sister's. I would have remembered that Troy had attended Speech and Debate camp at Monte Vista before his freshman year. I might have remembered he had taken the course for several years. I'd know that although he didn't always choose to compete much, he was a natural. And he was naturally good at ad-libbing and making me laugh and using his humor.

My kids know I am a sucker for laughter and so I wish I had remembered how Troy used that to his full advantage. It would aggravate both his sisters when they saw me laughing instead of disciplining. I should have remembered the time he presented his defensive lacrosse coach with the team’s end of year gift. As he did so, he recited a well-crafted speech that moved grown mothers, fathers, players and the coach he so wonderfully paid tribute to, to tears.

Or I may have recalled the Monte Vista High Mr. Mustang contest, where he was the emcee. During the evening he was organized, smart, and witty with a great sense of timing and improvisation that impressed some of the fathers in the audience. In fact, he impressed them to the point that they came up and told me to have Troy see them after he had graduated from college. I should have remembered the vice principal coming up to me, telling me he was amazing. But no, I didn't think about any of it when I was first presented with the "Sell It To Me" method of child rearing. Sigh.

If I had, I would have remembered how my oldest daughter Morgan began her own version of "Sell It To Me" naturally and all of her own accord. She would ask me to go over to a neighbor's house when she was in elementary school. Around that time we had set up a computer station in our family room. As I was online designing a lesson for school or creating class lists she'd know it was not the best time to ask to do something.

She would come up and beginning rubbing my head, massaging my scalp. She used this successful methodology on her father too. She could de-stress us both to the point of near drooling. Our body language softened and we would be sliding down the chair in a pool of relaxation. At that point, she would pose the aforementioned request to go to a friend's house, or have one of hers over to ours.

Sadly, she knows her powers now and rarely, if ever uses them. Which brings me back to her sister Shelby ... just this past weekend she wielded her powers of persuasion from the "Sell It To Me" technique. It was hot. I was tired from running 12 miles earlier that morning. I envisioned relaxing at home. She needed something from Target.

After I had said no, she decided to try once more with this, "Mom, really, you know one year from now I will be away from home at college. You will need to run an errand at Target. You will miss me. You'll think back on this day and only wish that you could have the experience of being with me as we always have a good time together.

Mom, think, 'Gilmore Girls' and how Rory went off to college and left Lorelai all alone. I will even drive you there so you can relax some more. Now, don't you want to go to Target with me?"  Believe it or not, I still said no.  And then after my shower I got dressed, headed downstairs and into the garage. 
Shelby was waiting for me in the driver's seat, knowing full well that her "Sell It To Me “skills had been successful enough for a short trip to Target. And as I opened the passenger door I knew she was right. I am going to miss my little salesgirl. 

To read more of my writing, go to: http://sanramon.patch.com/users/kathy-dillingham/blog_posts

Love: Cyber-Style

Love has found a home on the Information Highway. There's Match.com, OKCupid, Fitness Singles and eHarmony, to name a few. This week I found love on Facebook.



It began on Mother's Day. I now have one daughter who is a soon-to-be college graduate,  a son who is a sophomore in college and another daughter who is a junior in high school. This year I could not be with all of my children. My son phoned me early in the morning to wish me a happy Mother's Day and tell me he loved me. My daughters and I went to dinner with my brother, his wife and my mom to celebrate the day. All in all, a lovely day.



Later that night my oldest daughter and I were sharing the couch, my new laptop at my fingertips. My youngest was just down the stairs on the computer looking at all the new post-prom photos that had been downloaded on Facebook. We called my son to check on his flight home in a few weeks. He says that because it is Mother's Day, he will accept my friendship request on Facebook, and to go crazy as it will only be for three hours.



As my older two have gone away to college, I have tried to not be a "hovering" parent. We're very close but I have given them a long leash to become adults while simultaneously supporting them. I have let them be the lead as to how frequently we speak and how often I could visit them. I did send them care packages but sometimes contact has been minimal.



Facebook is another story. To friend or not to friend? That is the question.



When I joined two years ago, my youngest daughter immediately accepted my friendship.  Her older sister and brother did not. As a result, my youngest daughter de-friended me.



Ouch.



However, faith was restored shortly thereafter when she friended me once again. My oldest daughter finally friended me when she wanted photos and realized she had nothing to hide as well (I'm sure she deleted a number of photos and postings from friends first). My son? He wouldn't. It was something he'd tease me about constantly. Every once in a while I would taunt him back mentioning his friends that had requested MY "friending" (at least I knew to never request to be their friend,  a sure-fire social faux pas if ever there was one). I know he and his friends talked amongst themselves because I did mention that certain people had photos on their sites that might want to be hidden, or removed. I never told him who but they are a smart bunch and soon access was denied to those photos and albums that might be deemed offensive. A wise move on their part. I did not, however, under any circumstances "falk" them (that is my new word for Facebook stalking, "falking").



I  digress. I admit I broke down and finally requested his Facebook friendship. What happened? Nothing. Nada. Zip. For over a year and a half my son has denied my Facebook friendship. That is, until this past weekend when my son told me to go crazy and enjoy myself for three hours. A wiser woman would have used restraint. Not me.



I immediately zeroed in on his profile pictures. Knowing my son has a great sense of humor I began to comment on them. First I "liked" a bunch of his photos. Then I happened upon the one with photo-flash red eyes and commented, "Son of Satan, red eyes," not my finest literary prose, but I could not resist. Next came, "Hmmmm, someone is a sleepyhead" on the photo with him in a sleeping bag. I found one that I had to comment, "I love you but... DISLIKE." I begin to laugh and my comments. My oldest daughter began looking over my shoulder and laughing too.



Next I came upon the photo of him falling in the creek, I commented: "Oopsy, I hope you weren't hurt honey." The photo of him with the 5 o'clock shadow and hiking on a trail? I said, "The walk of shave." At this point my younger daughter begins "like"-ing my comments or writing, "Good one, mom." The text messages begin coming from my son asking what I'm doing. He responds to my comments. His friends join in the  fun, too...we're now laughing up a storm in Northern California while he's growing irritated in San Diego and friends at Oregon State, Chico, and other places are in on the joking.



As I'm commenting away on his photos I receive a message on his status page, "Going." I continue my comments with his friends joining in on the exchange.



Another message to me, "Going." And I know what's coming but I continue looking at his profile photos and commenting on them.



"Gone." He then de-friended me. A mere thirty minutes had gone by and I was right back where I started. Or was I?



I began a "BRING KATHY BACK" campaign on my Facebook status and somehow I had gotten a plead or two posted before the de-friending had occurred. I started rallying all the kids I knew who were friends with my son. Peer pressure CAN be a good thing. They started telling Troy I was so entertaining that they thought I should be "friended" again.



Eventually Troy gave in and we were "friends" once more. In fact, he even posted a photo of he and I as his profile photo, as was the norm for Mother's Day this year. I remember that day. It was in the nineties and I helped him move into his dorm on the eighth floor. We made no less than ten trips up those flightof stairs. I would say I earned that shared profile photo. I would even venture to say I have earned his Facebook friendship. But I won't take it for granted. Love, cyber-style is a pretty amazing gift that at least this woman won't take for granted.

http://sanramon.patch.com/blog_posts/love-cyber-style

The Gift of Time

My oldest daughter is * gulp * graduating from college today. I am sitting here trying to think of something wise and wonderful to say to her to mark this monumental passage of time. 

I can recall, as a toddler, Morgan’s insatiable curiosity. She invented the word, “Why?” I was determined to never grow weary of trying to answer, to the best of my ability, this question. She loved to explore, get dirty and “dig in.”

She would collect snails for her grandpa in his backyard, create glorious mud pies and sandcastles in ours, and would finger paint with widespread hands in full force, wherever she was allowed. She loved to play doctor and would look deep into any willing adult’s ear and inform them in a rather serious tone, “You gotta lotta wax in there.”

I hope that my dear Morgan never ever loses her sense of exploration and curiosity to learn about new things in life. Creating. Building. But most of all, reveling in the pure joy and satisfaction of a job well done.

In my mind’s eye, I remember anticipating the arrival of one of our carpool moms. She was picking Morgan up for the early morning kindergarten commute. We’d experienced our usual hubbub and all was ready, including the addition of her winter coat. It was an uncharacteristically chilly morning, at least by California standards.

The horn honked and Morgan ran out the door, as I stared out the glass windowpanes. She skipped down the walkway, book bag in hand. She headed in the direction of the car, stopped, and stooped down to touch the frosty grass.

She turned around and yelled, “Look, Jack Frost came last night!” With a grin spread across her flushed cheeks, she proceeded to turn in the car’s direction and continued on her now merry way.

I hope Miss Merry Sunshine never loses her sense of wonder. Whether it is musical notes heard, a book she’s just devoured, a handbag she just scored at Loehmann’s or most importantly, the beauty in nature that surrounds her. I hope she will stop to notice. Notice the majestic sunrises and sunsets, the cumulus cloud covering the sky as she (hopefully) lies back on the grass and soaks in the goodness that surrounds her.

Later, I marveled at the strength she displayed as a mere second grader. She had practiced a song for weeks and weeks to sing at her elementary school’s end of year talent show. It was a stretch for her but she was determined. In the end, the tape we had made for her to sing along with was seemingly lost and she would not be able to perform. When she happened to find it at the last minute, she ran to her teacher. The teacher informed Morgan it was too late. She would not allow her to sing. My “mommy heart” ached but she took the disappointment in stride and proceeded to enjoy the others’ performances.

That summer, her dad and I were driving home from a family outing and Morgan shared another incident involving that teacher. She was barely beginning to read and write. She had filled out a story plot plan as her homework one evening, and in her enthusiasm, continued to write her entire story. It was her first “real” one. It took a great deal of effort but Morgan was both proud and excited of her accomplishment.

The next morning she had it out on her table with her other completed homework, to be checked-in. When her teacher saw it, she ripped it up and threw it in the garbage because Morgan had not followed directions. I remember looking at her dad, as we exchanged a look of horror about what had transpired.

How could that teacher react so cruelly? She had followed the letter of her law but missed an amazing teachable moment. She was crushing a student’s love of a job well done.

Throughout the years I’ve seen Morgan receive other harsh judgments from those in authority. Whether it was for mistakes she’d made or lessons learned the “hard way,” she has amazed me with her strength to keep on, keeping on.  

She has determination and grit. I hope that with the passage of these lessons, she’s developed her own sense of compassion and empathy toward others who will also make mistakes one day.  In life, she can follow the letter of the law or the intent with which it was created. I hope she has learned to do the latter with firmness, yes, but a sense of fairness.

As a little girl she was kind, generous and very loving toward her baby sister and younger brother. When her tiny brother cried from an injury, she would sympathize, saying, “Poor Troy.”  

I have seen that same caring attitude displayed with children she babysits. Those characteristics seem to shine as she discusses holding newborns or the mommies who deliver them. Her chosen profession, that of a nurse, seems perfectly suited for her.  All that she has learned: wonderment, curiosity, strength, determination, grit, empathy and more, will make her an excellent nurse.

So to my Miss Merry Sunshine, Morgan, I offer sincere congratulations. And did I mention my “mommy heart” is oh so proud?  I love you. 

100th Bay to Breakers Rookie Recap

This year it was the San Francisco Bay to Bakers Race 100th anniversary. I read online they were giving medals to all finishers for the first time. I wanted one. So I signed up.

My alarm went off at 4:50am and I ate a quick breakfast of cereal with almond milk. I had debated what I should wear due to a rainy forecast. I settled upon wearing shorts that had a side pocket large enough to house my iPhone in a Ziploc sandwich baggie, that way I could capture all the Kodak moments. I also wore a tank top, long-sleeved shirt, a biking windbreaker with a handy pocket for money, BART ticket, license and a credit card.  I wore my Road I.D. bracelet, a Polar watch and my marathon necklace for good luck. I topped it off with a baseball cap and drank some extra water, heading out the door by 5:10am.

I waited for friends to join me at the Walnut Creek BART. We left on the 5:56 train and arrived in plenty

of time to begin our run (it's not a race).  We began to see runners dressed up. "Thing 1" and "Thing 2" (a mother/daughter duo) rode the escalator with us.

When we landed at the top of the escalator, I noticed blue skies. A good sign.

From there we headed toward the starting area. Waiting for the run to begin, we were able to witness the traditional tortilla toss. It's rumored that seasoned runners initiated the toss, but who knows? It was great fun. One landed on my head.

After the tortilla tossing (and landing) we were waiting in line to get into our corral. While waiting, the crowd was rather tame, albeit dressed in a myriad of costumes. 

There were a few teens smoking  "funny stuff" in this area but not blatantly. The line to get into our corral was moving v-e-r-y slow. There was an opening in the fence to the side so a large number of us followed an alternate group into the B group area. Though our start time was 7:00 I don't think we began until 7:12 or so. We were all walking close together and it was crowded but organized. I might mention just as were getting ready to begin, there were beach balls flying. I yelled to the woman in front of me to kick it. She let it roll past herself so I decided to give it a giant kick myself. BIG mistake. It landed on her back, ricocheted off of her onto the chest of the woman to my right. It hit her hard, startling her. "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I will never kick a beach ball again!" I implored. I felt terrible. I continued sheepishly forward. Note to self: never kick beach balls in a crowd.

Soon music was blaring, the crowd was slowly spreading out and we neared the starting line. We were off! No sooner had we begun than the Oreo man and friends were there passing out cookies to all of us.

He was so friendly. My friend, "Pamela, not Pam" ate two as she had not eaten breakfast yet. I ate one, just to be nice. Besides, who can resist a cookie?

As we moved forward the festivities continued. There is a tradition of the Upstream Salmon who run opposite the pack in order to find other fish to spawn. I stopped to photograph them.

I counted at least eleven naked men and two women. There was a naked couple but I didn't know until I ran past them that one of them was a woman. If you want to see the backs of them, you'll have to be my friend on Facebook. Later, there were four men running together and I said to a runner next to me, "Must pass naked men!" She laughed at my joke as we passed them.

The crowds continued forward. Thousands of people. I will say there were lots of porta potties lining the streets and water stops along the route too. No floats this year, no centipedes near me and a rather tame crowd. There were lots of bands playing music throughout which made the time fly. There is one pretty big hill but the sea of people are so entertaining it didn't seem half bad. There was at least one elderly gentleman being helped Hayes St. Hill, but he didn't seem to mind (he "found his thrill on Hayes St. Hill").

The weather continued to cooperate with the sun shining the entire race, up until the very end when the sprinkles that landed on my cap were a welcomed reprieve. After I ran across the finish line, I noticed a couple being interviewed on T.V. They were headed to Hawaii after today's run and their grass skirts and coconut shell tops landed them the news segment spot.

One fellow had a giant grin on his face but his shirt told another story:

From the finish line it is quite a far walk to collect medals and t-shirts.  As we began gathering, eating and socializing, there were more noteworthy costumes, including the Prince and Princess of Wales.

I saw a  few of the folks from Forward Motion in Danville, including Pamela not Pam, who had found a cape during the run. It was getting chillier so she put it on for some super powers, I'm sure.   

And at Bay to Breakers were some of my running mates, including Roger Shaw and Lynn Jowett and our "coach" Rhett Bratt from Walnut Creek, Kathe Oster from Alamo, myself, Kathy Dillingham from Danville, Tony Phillips and Marian De La Torre Easthope also from Walnut Creek.

Our day was nearly over. We rode a bus to the Daly City BART station. We were so chilled we took time to sun ourselves a little bit.

At long last, we headed onto the BART train and headed home sweet home. It was, by all accounts, a really wonderful fun-filled day. 

                                                               And, I got my medal.

Divorce Mentor

I have friends who teasingly say I am their divorce mentor. It is a title which brings mixed feelings. Why? Because I believe in love, keeping commitments and happily-ever-after. And yet, I do admit to having learned a few things in the past seven years as a divorce'.

One thing I have learned is that it is okay to be alone. To be lonely and alone is very different than being married and alone. This even applies to social events. I am somewhat lucky in that my ex-husband's schedule forced me to learn to go to social gatherings alone, or not go at all.

I am quite comfortable sitting at a table with four married couples. I am frequently the "fifth wheel" but it doesn't bother me. If I'm a fifth wheel,  it's because I've chosen to be with friends or family that I love.

For example, last week was the tenth anniversary of the founding of the Scorpion Lacrosse program. I sat at a table with four couples. I had a great time. I danced with the ladies that evening and a few of their husbands too. It was one big collective group of friends dancing together. The more the merrier, single or married.

I have learned that some husbands are sometimes leery of their wives going out with me. This only applies to new friendships where the husbands don't know me well enough yet. The old friends all know I am just happy to be able to spend time with my girlfriend.

We're not out carousing and on the prowl, we're likely headed to a movie or sitting at a table eating in downtown Danville, Walnut Creek or San Ramon discussing each one of our children's lives in detail. Or we're solving the most recent work issue or lamenting about our busy schedules.

I do have friends who gripe about their husbands, but it is no different from when I was married. Except to say that the fantasy of divorce is very different than the reality. I am the very last person to encourage someone to divorce. I believe every avenue should be explored first: compromising and communication, counseling, books, and more.

I have always believed, and still do, that divorce is not really an option. That is, until it simply is, for reasons only those involved can understand. The decision to divorce should never be taken lightly. New friends, and their spouses, are sometimes surprised to learn my stance. My older friends, and their spouses, are not. They know me.

I will admit, however,  to coaching my newly-divorced friends about several things, some simple and mundane and others often more philosophical in nature. Here are just a few of them:

The most important item on a newly-divorced couples' agenda should be their kids. If children are in the picture, they must always come first. Any anger or ill will toward their "ex" spouses has got to be less than the love they feel for their children. That love has got to be the common  ground with which they move forward, separately.

As a teacher I saw their shared love as a way to bring parents together for conferencing with their child or children. The result was, and is, happier children.

When I have dated or befriended newly divorced men I can tell a lot about their relationship with their ex-wife by how they are referenced. If they say, "My EX did such-and-such" or "My EX is a blah, blah, blah" I wince inside. I gently ask them what is "her" name.

After they answer, I then ask if they can just use her name, she is, after all, the mother of their children. Many men naturally do just that. Or, like me, they reference their ex-wives as "my children's mother." The same is true for my friends who have ex-husbands. I know they have an "EX" but why not just call him by his first name? It's the kinder, gentler way to reference them.

As a divorced woman, I generally dress pretty conservatively around married couples. I have even coached other friends to do likewise...the reality is that we don't ever want the wives to feel we are trying to make moves on their men. We aren't. We just want to be looked upon as another member of the team, not the opposition.

I also need to go on record to say that just because I am divorced, it doesn't mean that I let my children run around town into the wee hours of the night. My children have curfews. I do not serve alcohol to minors and generally speaking, I am one of the more strict parents in their circles of friendship.

The same is true with the "father of my children" and we have always been united on the fact that our children won't use divorce as an excuse for bad behavior.  I understand and respect the need for parents to call and discuss my supervision of their children when coming to my home for the first time.

I hope that is true for all the married couples their children visit as well. Children need supervision, rules and abundant love. That is a universal truth whether married or divorced. Just don't assume because I'm divorced that my parenting rules are more lax. They aren't. Ask my kids. Or their friends' parents. They know.

Another thing I "coach" my friends going through divorce is this: take the time to know your role in why you divorced. It takes two people. I've heard for every five years that you've been married it takes a year to recover. Learn and discover who you are and what role you played the divorce.

Some of my friends don't want to hear it. But generally speaking, it's a good idea. Take time to figure out who you are, solo. Don't jump into something with someone before you know your likes, dislikes, must-haves and can't-stands. What brings you joy? What makes you sad or mad? Above all, be yourself. You'll be a better parent and partner in the future.

Do I like being a divorce mentor? I don't know. I guess I never thought I'd be divorced in the first place. But since I am divorced, surprisingly happily, I might as well try to share a little bit of what I've learned in the process. I know this, I still believe in love. I still believe in marriage. And I still believe in being the best person I can be. Married or single.

To view this on the San Ramon Patch, go here:

http://sanramon.patch.com/blog_posts/divorce-mentor

My Laptop's Death

A week or so ago I received a phone call from Texas. It seemed my beloved laptop had died a slow water-y death. Somehow there was "liquid damage." I don't know when. I don't know how. I only know that the cost to repair was nearly the cost of replacing my beloved little white machine.

As a writer, not having access to my most favorite tool has been sad. I have oodles of stories to write. Ones about adventures in Maui (over one month old) or of my children growing, myself evolving. I have been procrastinating bringing my computer in to the Mac Store because I could sense the news would not be happy.

The death of my laptop has sad because it symbolized a gift from someone four years ago. This individual saw I was a busy mom with three children and one computer. At the time, we each had to wait our turn to get online. I had already cooked and cleaned in my home both before school and again later, taught in a classroom all day, driven numerous routes in the carpool lane to various sports' practices, games and more, corrected homework for my own children as well as over 65 students and then cooked and cleaned some more. And then I had to wait my turn to type away.

My beloved laptop was an unsolicited present and totally unexpected. It was given to me during a lunch and with an explanation that there were no strings, expectations or hidden meanings. It was a gift to a writer from someone who understood.

That machine helped me to create stories of my family, myself and friends. It allowed me to create a DVD for my entire immediate family of our history set to music with a myriad of photos. It brought comfort to all of us while my dad fought his cancer courageously. I will never forget watching the DVD as a giant audience in my sister's living room in April of 2007 with tears of sadness mixed with joy and laughter. A year later we edited it for his memorial service. I had photos of my children's most recent events. I journaled. I emailed. I poured my heart and soul onto the keys of that little engine that could.

The friendship has shifted and though we keep in touch on rare occasions I have always appreciated the spirit with which the computer was given. Time moves on and so do people.

Yesterday I took money out of my limited savings and went to the Apple Store. I purchased a new little silver machine. I have high hopes for more writing, with some more ideas and sites and avenues brewing. And though my white machine has died, my friendship has shifted I continue to be optimistic about what is around the next bend.

Thank you for reading...

Eating Crap

Let's be honest. We've all done it. Today I did. I ate crap. LOTS of it. As I sit here typing I have a "food baby" that feels like I'm carrying a 7 pounder. I want to give birth because it feels so heavy and gross.

Here is my crap recap:

A semi-healthy small bowl of cereal with soy milk at home

Got to work and then ate a slice (or two)  of disgusting lemon coffee cake with filling from our local grocery store.

Red vine licorice (several pieces)

1-1/2 carrot cake cupcakes w/ gross canned cream cheese frosting

A McDonald's plain hamburger in a desperate attempt to keep it semi-healthy

One bag of small fries w/ yes, a Diet Coke 

(On a side note: Did you know Mickey D's has fat and calorie content listed on their paper wrappers apparently? I actually had an okay caloric intake, but the content and quality is an entirely different topic up for discussion).

In short, if there were a contest for eating crap today, I win.

How do I feel about it? Not great. Not good. I'm going to go swim this evening in 50+ degree fresh water. I will don a wetsuit and swim a mile or so in an attempt to burn a little bit of the sugar and fat laden foods from my overloaded system.

The reality is that more often than not, I eat healthy. Lots of green stuff. Very little inflammatory foods. Nuts, avocado, olive oil and other good fats. Almond milk or soy.  Fruit. Fish. Chicken. Water. LOTS of water.

Today? Not so much. I will wipe my crystallized sugared lips and begin my swim in a little while. When I wake up and attend a breakfast honoring my daughter, the almost-graduated nursing student. I will make healthy choices. My food baby will disappear and I'll feel better. I'll run and bike this weekend. 

But every once in a while I will have an eating crap-filled day. Some days are just like that.