Oh people, my how things have changed. I know lately I haven’t posted much but things have been CRAZY. Well, more accurately, I have been crazy. Let’s just say that this move has left me with hills and valley’s of emotions and I have been learning a lot about my ability to deal with change. I guess I should have taken Who Moved MY Cheese more seriously…maybe I would have transitioned better.

Anyhow, this week I started running with two girls from work in the mornings. They are both beautiful, young and incredibly in shape (Hi Jenny!) At first I was intimidated but we have had a great time running together and I feel monumentally better throughout the day when I run in the morning.

This morning was particularly fantastic as we happened to run by a certain doctor that the girls know. He lives just a bit off of our running path and we zig zagged out of the way in order to catch a peak of his house. Well, holy moly did we hit gold.

As we nonchalantly jogged by, it appeared that said doctor was (with windows WIDE OPEN) doing pull ups on a bar in his front room. WITH NO SHIRT ON. People, what happened after this was like a scene out of a stupid chick flick. Let’s just say there was lots of high pitched giggling and yet another sprint past the poor, unsuspecting doc’s window. We are grown women mind you, but we aren’t above stalking hot doctors apparently. Now, given that I am a happily married woman (hi honey!) I will say that this little adventure was strictly an information reconaissance mission for my lovely single girl friend, so you could say that I took one for the team. Really, I never leave a fellow soldier behind. I have strict military like morals.

I can’t imagine what the neighbors thought as we cackled loudly outside their windows at O’Dark Hundred, maybe geese flying West for Fall? Anyhow, I fear we were less mature than we would like to think.

 One of the girls I run with is getting married on the beach in Carmel next weekend. She is marrying a secret agent man (seriously, she can’t even tell me about him because she’d have to kill me or something) Apparently, aside from her good taste in men, she MUST NEED glasses because she has asked me to do her makeup for her wedding. (My mom is so proud! Hi Mom!)Although when I told my sister (who is a stylist) that someone asked me to do their makeup, she asked if that meant someone was going to ask her to run for Congress. Point taken Nikki.

So I am thinking that I will post some before and after photo’s of the blushing bride so y’all can see my mad make-up skills. I might have missed my calling as a MAC counter girl, however given that I am a HER and not a SHIM, maybe I wouldn’t make it there too long.

Anyhow, running this morning, while fully entertaining, was a bit hard because my children refuse to sleep. Isaac and Joshua, at least once a week decide to tag team me in the middle of the night with a parade of requests for water, bottles and bathroom trips. I am thinking that we are going to have to separate the two little tyrants and move Josh to the guest bedroom because I can’t hang with the lack of sleep. Somehow the man sleeping next to me manages to sleep through the Midnight Masterpiece Theater of Children - although they are so loud I don’t know how.

Look for my regular Friday Fasting post tomorrow, as I am screaming up on the end of week 2 of no shopping. One day at a time, people, one day at a time.

One of my favorite childhood memories involves hours and hours of tennis lessons. It started when I was four and I didn’t really stop playing until after high school. Growing up on the Peninsula, everyone plays tennis. If baseball is America’s past time, then someone should tell Monterey because here, it is all about the courts.

I remember a specific conversation with my mom, wherein she explained that if I was to ever be a proper woman, I should know these few things:

- how to correctly match my shoes and belt

- how to sprinkle my conversation with impressive vocabulary

- how to kick an opponents’ ass in a friendly game of tennis

Her quest to make me a real girl started with group tennis lessons and quickly moved to private lessons as finances provided. So, at the tender age of 8 I would walk from Carmel River School to Mission Ranch next door and have private lessons twice a week. I absolutely loved the freedom of walking from point A to point B and I especially loved the individual attention of the lesson.  

The lessons were scheduled for twice a week and on those days I would cut through the back of the school, where there was a hole in the fence and make the treck across a field to Mission Ranch. Before I hit the courts, I would stop in at the front desk. The office had a candy vending machine with what I thought was the best candy bar known to man, the Violet Crumble. My mom was a bit restrictive on the sugar front at home so this stolen chocolate treasure was usually the highlight of my day. 

After my candy break I would head to the court to meet my instructor. He was tall and tan and he wore the typical short white tennis shorts of the early 80’s nature. He had the perfect sandy blonde hair and a really cool accent. Even at 8 years old, I was aware of my good fortune in tennis coaches. The best part about him though was his name, Chic. He had no last name of record but does it really matter when your first name is Chic? Chic was from Australia and he moved to the Peninsula with the sole purpose of teaching tennis, I think. For this I am sure that every well kept wife, with a sudden interest in tennis, was thankful for his voyage from Down Under to the West Coast.

So, as Chic moved about the court teaching me proper forehand and backhands, serves and volleys I took it all in. I just knew that one day I would be a tennis star and Chic would be in the stands cheering me on. After my lesson was over, I would head back over the school and wait for my mom to pick me up. She would come racing in after a long day at work and ask how my day was and if I enjoyed my lessons. I would of course answer that my day was fine and lessons were okay, I couldn’t let on that I had a big 8 year old crush on Chic, lest she decide to tease me or find a less intriguing coach so that I would pay more attention to the game.

As time went on, I began to loose interest in tennis and began to flirt with other sports. Tennis went from first love to an old mistress, thought of fondly but no longer properly nurtured. Because of this, my game never really went to the level I would’ve liked but I still managed to make Varsity in high school, where a small and spry female coach would scream at me from the sidelines of practice about my form and concentration.

The disenchantment came fast a furious during my years on Varsity because how exactly does a girl go from playing tennis at Mission Ranch in Carmel with Chic to a high school court in Turlock in 106 degree weather? For this reason, I still have a love hate relationship with the game, but many fond memories to keep me going.

Yesterday my four year old had his first private tennis lesson at Carmel Valley Ranch. When I asked him how it went, he said “Good.” He was very non committal about it, which made me wonder if maybe Chic now has a daughter and she is a tennis instructor at Carmel Valley Ranch.

Things I’ve learned about the new town I live in:

1. People are pretty active, lots of joggers and dog walking going on.
2. I smell pot almost every night, so I assume most people are also stoned a lot.
3. Not sure how 1 &2 go together. Generally # 2 is a little unmotivating…
4. There is a preponderance of Louis Vitton purses.
5. There is also a preponderance of BMW’s.
6. People are really friendly (see #2).
7. Tourists are already annoying. I feel bad saying this but it is true.
8. Fast food is too far away to be worth it. Again not sure how this gels with #2’s cravings. Maybe late night bagel runs?
9. Fog is a way of life. You must be one with the fog or you will get depressed.
10. The fog makes my hair curly, so maybe my junior high hairstyle wasn’t entirely the perm’s fault.