One of my New Year’s resolutions was to run a marathon this year.  However, I had no intention of actually doing it.  Ever.  It just sounded like something I needed to do.  After all, I had run two half marathons and finished a 200-mile relay.  But, who in their right mind would actually run 26.2 miles?

Turns out, I would.  And I did.  In early April, Justin registered me for the Vermont City Marathon in Burlington.  I downloaded Hal Higdon’s novice marathon app and got to work.  I still wasn’t sure that I would actually do it.  And then, all of a sudden, it was here.

Justin showed up four times on the course, proving himself the most supportive husband in the world.  Particularly because he ran (full disclosure: walked) the last mile with me.  He made an excellent photographer, capturing some of my more fabulous moments.

The run was brutal; how could it not be?  I hit a pretty big wall around mile 17 and, by mile 22, I was done even trying to run.  Somehow, I managed to pick up my battered feet for the last .3 mile to run across the finish line.  I stepped across the finish line, hands in the air, grin on my face.  I.  Had.  Done.  It.

And with that, I got rid of the person I used to be.  The person who could barely get off the couch.  The person who got winded trying to speed walk.  The person who never had any personal fitness goals.  And, all of a sudden, I became someone new.  A distance runner; a marathon runner.  And I can’t wait to do it again – only better.

Last Friday, Justin headed to New York with some friends for the day, leaving Robbie and me to our own devices after school.  There were no new movies out – our usual date plan – and I couldn’t bear the thought of another night at Chuck E. Cheese.  Without really thinking the idea through, I decided to take Robbie to Fenway for a Red Sox game.  He’d been before, but not since he was really little.  This was the first game that he would actually remember.

The first part of our date was bus and train ride, and that alone would have been enough.  Especially after I took the wrong train, and we wound up at the Symphony stop on the green line.  Eventually, though, we made it to Fenway.  Robbie waited patiently in line for his popcorn and Diet Coke before we made our way to our seats.  I’d been fortunate enough to get reasonably priced tickets on eBay for our last-minute adventure.

Robbie took it all in: scarfing popcorn, looking at the screens, pointing out all of the kids.  And, much to Justin’s dismay, yelling, “Go, Red Sox!  Go!  Go!”

Eventually, things took a turn for the worse.  Robbie wet through two pairs of pants.  He threw bits of popcorn.  The crowning moment was when my phone went flying three rows and hit a very upset young woman in the back.

Justin confided in me later that he never would have taken Robbie into Fenway alone.  It might not have been the easiest adventure, but I don’t care.  He’s still talking about it a week later and cheering on the Red Sox, especially when Justin talks about the Yankees.  What more could a girl want?

I’m not sure how it happened, but I forgot to congratulate my wonderful husband on graduating from Boston College!  He officially finished in December and walked this month.

Sitting in the stands watching the ceremony was a little bittersweet.  It’s just another sign of us starting to wrap up our lives in Boston, and I had just been in the same position two years ago.  And now, Justin and I have closed that chapter.

Congratulations, Justin Manna!  I am so incredibly proud of you!

Growing up, we used to go camping on a farm.  There were so many ticks that we called it Camp Tick-a-lot.  Arlington is getting right up there.  Several weeks ago, there was one on Rob’s head at the park.  I have found two on me – just crawling around.  Tonight, we found our fourth tick.

It was during bath time and Justin had just finished washing Robbie’s hair when he say it, attached to the back of Robbie’s head.  The poor baby immediately sensed that something was wrong and turned around just in time to see me put a bobby pin in a flame.  That’s when the screaming started.

Eventually, Justin was able to pull the culprit out of Robbie’s head, with some skin still attached to it’s greedy little mouth.  Justin may or may to have burned it in an apple cinnamon flame…  And poor Robbie kept crying about the bad bug.  I think we’ll be having tick checks every night.  Now if only I could get my own scalp to stop itching!

My mom sang it to us when we were little.  That and a few other classics that I can’t remember the words or the tunes to.  So, I stick to “Edelweiss”.  As it is, it’s all I can do to get through that without sounding terrible.  But, you know what?  Robbie loves it.  He asks for it every night after we read stories.

In fact, it’s even a little better than that.  He crawls up into my lap and asks to cuddle like a baby.  I know I probably shouldn’t indulge baby stuff like that, but he never wanted to cuddle when he was a baby.  Robbie just wanted to be a big boy.  Given all the bedtime trouble we’ve had over the past few months, I grab onto the opportunity with both hands.

So, up he climbs, curling into me, and gazing up into my face, whispering, “Sing ‘Edelweiss’, please, Mom.”  We sit and rock and sing.  Robbie closes his eyes, and I can feel him relax into me.  Sometimes he asks to move into our bed to go to sleep because he likes the big bed (after all, who needs a toddler bed when you’re almost three?).

At first, he wanted to cuddle all the time.  Now, he just wants a round or two of “Edelweiss” and enough space to get comfortable.  So it looks like we might have found the great compromise for bedtime.  A little cuddling.  A little song.  And a little more bed.

I want to be patient.  I need to be patient.  I am not patient.  Unfortunately, last night exemplified this.  Robbie refused to go to bed.  Flat out refused.  Bedtime took three hours.  At one point, actually at more than one point, both of us were in tears.

I did everything the books, websites, and more experienced parents tell you not to do.  There was yelling.  Threatening.  Taking away of toys.  Everything that I could think of, except being calm and rational.

When Justin finally took over the bedtime attempts, I curled up in bed and cried.  Robbie is old enough to remember this stuff now.  What if this one night, this one (of many, I’m sure) bad decisions sticks with him?

And then Robbie woke up this morning.  He woke up, smiling and telling me about his fun rest and how much he loved me.  That’s when I really knew.  He’s going to love me no matter what.  We’re both going to mess up – a lot.  And that’s OK.  It’s the mess-ups that make the next day that much sweeter.

If I hadn’t been so terrible last night, I might not have taken Robbie on a two-mile walk this afternoon where he pretended to be a pirate, went fishing, climbed a rock, and jumped in every puddle along the way.  I might not have taken the extra time to cuddle and rock him tonight when he asked for it the fourth time.  So, I’ll take a night of being a bad parent if it means I can refocus and come back more determined to be better the next day.

Yesterday, I received a barrage of panicked emails from Justin; he couldn’t find his college ring anywhere.  All day, I followed Justin’s quest around the house as he tore through every cushion, drawer, and stray sock in the house.  Eventually, I suggested that he wait until Robbie got home and ask if he knew where it was.  After all, lately he’s been playing pirate and a ring seems like a pretty good treasure.  My only concern was that it was in the litter box because, you know, you bury treasure in the sand.

Justin was uncertain of the success of any of this, convinced the ring was gone forever.  However, dutiful husband that he is, Justin asked Robbie if he had seen the ring when they came home.  I believe it went a little something like this:

“Rob, son, have you seen Daddy’s ring?”

“QiQi room.”

“Daddy’s ring, Rob.  Do you know where it is?”

“QiQi room.”

At this point, Robbie is halfway up the stairs, irritated that Justin didn’t understand the direction the first time.  Justin, having nothing to lose, followed Robbie upstairs.  Robbie ran into his room, knelt down on the floor, and reached under his train table.  He pulled out his Fisher-Price airplane, removed Goofy from the inside, rummaged around, and eventually produced Justin’s college ring.  Robbie handed Justin the ring, saying, “See, Jus?  Daddy ring,” and walked back downstairs.

He’s smooth; I have to give him that.  Last night, as I was putting Robbie to bed, he looked at me very sincerely and started playing with my hair.  He took his other hand and ran it over my face.  With big, brown eyes, he looked at me and said, “Beautiful.  Mommy so beautiful.”  And my heart melted.  I wanted to wrap him up in my arms and cover him in kisses.  It was the most perfect compliment I had ever received.

And then he continued.  ”Daddy beautiful.  QiQi beautiful.  QiQi beautiful hair.  See, Mommy?  See beautiful hair?”

Lately, my cherub has taken more of an interest in drawing.  In fact, he’s even played a few rounds of Draw Something for me.  Oddly, my poor, unsuspecting friend had no idea that Robbie had selected the word “mushroom.”  Sure, he’s always liked to scribble, readily agreeing to draw anything you ask him.  Nemo?  Sure.  Nona and Pops?  He’ll even throw in Barkley for good measure.  Of course, you can never tell one straight line from the other.

Until this weekend.  Robbie grabbed the racing form on Derby Day, sat down on the stairs, and said he was going to draw pumpkins.  And then, much to my amazement, he did.

I didn’t know what to do, so I cried.  I cried for the baby he wasn’t anymore.  For the big boy he so desperately wants to be.  And for all the pride I couldn’t contain in my heart.

I was at my wits’ end last night.  An hour into bedtime, and Robbie was still going strong.  I couldn’t take anymore.  And, before I knew it, the lie was out of my mouth.  After the fifteenth time Robbie asked me “why” he had to go to bed, I snapped and said, “Because it’s dark outside and Santa makes the rules.  Santa’s rules say all little boys have to be asleep when it’s dark outside.”

Robbie’s eyes got huge, and he said, very seriously, “Want a merry Christmas, Mom.  Stay in bed.”  And he did.  Until 2:30 in the morning when he crawled in bed with me.

I’m not proud to admit that I pulled the same stunt this morning when Robbie refused to brush his teeth.  In fact, he had pretty much refused to do anything, evidenced by his arrival at daycare in his Gargamel jammies (not really, they are just green striped pajamas with bats on the front).  He did, however, brush both his top and bottom teeth when I talked to him about Santa’s list, saying, “Want presents at Christmas, Mom.”

Unfortunately, none of this worked tonight.