This year I put off the purchase as long as I could and happened to be in Wal Mart when the urge to indulge became too strong to override. Apparently this year Wal Mart aimed at super-sizing all the seasonal candy bags and so there was not a small Smartie bag to be found in either the regular or holiday aisles. I debated whether or not to hold out for a grocery store but in the end opted for the giant bag, contents something like 5,000 Smartie Rolls. And so yesterday I ate them all. Yup. No restraint. No thoughts about how my body would feel after a constant absorption of cheap sugar in my mouth ALL day. Just that need to feel those sugary discs melt in my mouth. I ate no other Halloween candy, I couldn’t because by the time Devon had treats in his bag my tongue was numb from sucking on candy all day. Needless to say this morning I woke up with the mother of all sugar hangovers the resolution that no more Smarties will ever again pass my lips, at least not the ones that come in giant bags.

Cassidy was The Red Queen this year. I was able to consume Smarties while braiding her hair and then forming 12 braid buns, inserting flowers and then spraying the whole shabang with gold glitter. Multitasker, me.

Recently I decided that my half marathon training was in the dumps to such an extent that a pleasure purchase was exactly the sort of boost my sorry ass morale needed in order to continue beating myself up in pursuit of additional mileage. I have long been eyeing a running skort to add to my paltry collection of training costumes. The skorts are sassy and say to the rest of the beings on the trail, “Hey, I’m fun and pain brings me joy. So get the hell out of my way.” I would love to acquire a high end skirt, but realistically this is the end of August and the kids are returning to school which means tuition…. So instead I opted for a cheapy Target skort. But the bang for those mere sixteen dollars? While not quite running nirvana, the results were something close to tingly.  I ran on the trail with the hem of the skort gently tapping on the lower region of my behind,  a soft sort of love spank with each step. There was no inner thigh chaffing like I get with traditional running shorts. There is even a small key pocket for treasures. Simply put -I am in love with my running skort.

Now I know that while I find myself to be absolutely fetching in my skort, I understand that in reality there is all sorts of business that is so wrong about this garment. My skin holds close to no melanin and nearly glows in regular light. There are bumps and valleys of cellulite out back that I pretend do not exist, add a short, flouncy skirt to that and the view is less than breathtaking. However,  in the privacy of my head there are many upsides to this new found delight of mine, I think the best one is that at close to mile three I found something close to peace for the first time in a couple of weeks. And that is Golden.

Devon is an easily excitable child. His zest for life continually awes me as he embraces everything, (the exception being eating actual food) runs with it and makes it his and his alone. One of his most favorite things in the entire universe is costumes. He has a huge stash of them in the front compartment of his car bed and I will often find him in his room running his stubby fingers along the hems of a cape or doing arm and leg crusader actions while wearing a mask. So obviously when the Halloween catalogs start arriving in mid-August life gets that much better for my little guy. The other day the first of the catalogs came and he was beside himself with giddiness. Devon promptly perched himself upon the edge of the couch, turning each page while gasping with delight over this year’s offerings. He was so enthralled that not even Cassidy’s prodding could tear him away from the pages. Love him I do.

BeauTiFul from Loren Creer on Vimeo.

This was Loren’s entry for the Rocky Mountain Student FilmFest. Yes, I was one of those blubber, teary moms.

I find his work stunning.

About seven weeks ago it dawned on me that nothing much would do in my life unless I run a half marathon in the next few months. This occurred to me for no better reason than the fact that I happen to be turning 40 in early September. It seems I must find meaning in this meaningless turn of the clock. Sure, my 30′s have been a challenge, really an ass kicker if you will. But in order to send them out with nobility I find I must hurl my curvy body through space for 13.2 miles to find order in it all. So. I have been training. I downloaded a training schedule, joined a couple of training sites and have been striving for consistency in said training. Part of that training is running small races along the way in order to experience the race…experience. My first race was good fun, the Susan G. Komen 5K. A good cause, lots of turn out, good shwagg. No room to go wrong. I finished in the middle of the pack and was pleased considering the altitude was close to 8000 feet. Then it was time to up the mileage and so last weekend I ran a local 4.2 mile race. It was pegged as an exclusively downhill gig. No worries. No fuss. There were 33 runners in my part of the run, the 14 milers started in a different spot and at an earlier time. I knew by the look of the pack that there were some fit contenders, some young folk and some runners much older than me. What I didn’t consider was the fact that out of 33 participants I would finish dead last. Behind the young ‘uns and the bad ass granny in front of me, the old hag who NEVER once stopped to walk.  I would have been more mortified but for the fact that my time, 42:59 for just a bit over four miles was a personal best for me. So I’m not sure what kind of steroidal breakfast those young teens and old farts had last Saturday but my time left me giddy and sore.

Tonight was the cross training part of my half marathon training schedule. I am a far better cyclist than runner and am actually able to log a fair number of miles on the bike. This is from one of my new favorite rides where I ride my butt off for a spell before hitting the summit and sailing downhill for about 12 miles. When I reach the top I always stop for a few minutes to say the following to nobody in particular: 1) Fuck yes, I am a bad ass who just rode all kinds of UP. And then to my father : Thank you, Dad, for giving me this love of cycling. For bringing us here to the mountains and teaching us to appreciate the beauty surrounding us.

Tonight the beauty was especially gorgeous as a storm blew over. Not only were the mountains particularly stunning, but I like to think there was all sorts of Jesus in them, what will all the extreme light and blustery clouds. A good night for a ride.

So what have I done lately? Well. I’ve submerged myself in cold mountain lake water and then attempted to hurl through it while tied to a rope. Scary stuff for somebody whose idea of water sports is the shallow end of my mother’s hot tub. The effort was completely unplanned, spontaneous in a way I simply am not.

Luckily my mother was there, yes at the age of 39 I spend a lot of time with my mother, to record it on camera. No, there are not actually pictures of me on the water, those moments were fleeting but they actually did happen. Starting at the top and traveling clockwise: The mistress of the boat, Jennifer, and my mother as we cruise to the middle of the lake. Jen’s son and Cassidy’s best friend, Taylor, as he readies to go out on the water. Cass and Devon watching Taylor, I love Cass’ profile and the fact that Devon looks like an albino monkey. Yes, that backdoor shot of my legs is courtesy of my mother. Why put it in? Because it is a testament to the fact that pale people should stay indoors in their corners and learn more showtunes, plus I love the way Jen is modeling the technique I should use to prop myself up on the knee board. Then there is Richard’s lower half as he effortlessly surfs behind the boat, He is the Master of the vessel and mate to Jen. And finally Jen is modeling, again, how I should grasp the rope as I let myself out to surf. Good thing I know how to swim.

But my most favorite shot of all is this one, Cass and me after I have been hurled off the back side of the boat and she reassures me that I am not a bumbling idiot, just an uncoordinated one.Good times.

Untitled from Heather Craven on Vimeo.

Today I had the great honor of watching Cassidy and her best rumble tumble friend, Taylor, do their water magic on knee boards. Cassidy actually has a bit of a separate life with Taylor and his family, so much so that there are a number of people in our community who have no idea that Cass is not a full fledged member of Taylor’s family.  Rather than think of myself as lacking as mother I picture it as spreading the love of my amazing daughter. Anyway, I took this little video with my camera, yes I suck at it, but it captures the unified spirit of these two on the water. Truly beautiful.

Yesterday Devon and Cassidy celebrated the day by wetting the trampoline and jumping off the playhouse. The simple joys of summer are so lovely.