More to come, but in the meantime here’s a teaser that sums up where we’re going:  Broadsheet360 always more than 140 characters.

Last week we hit the taper, the time in our training program where mileage decreases and rest increases. I found myself feeling restless and almost wistful for 15 or 20 miles. Of course, not thinking about the fact that the granddaddy of mileage, 26.2, was looming ahead.  If you had asked me in February if I thought I could bust out 26.2 miles I would have grimaced and shrugged. 26.2 sounded so daunting, nearly impossible. The thing is something shifted during all those miles of training. I realized I could indeed complete the marathon, and most likely in decent time. For all you seasoned runners/walkers, I’m sure this is exactly what a regimented training program is designed to do. But, for me this realization came as a welcome surprise.

And, that dear readers is where the Flip-Flops come in. Summer has been slow to arrive in the Pacific Northwest this year. In fact the marathon has been forced to change route, as the mighty Columbia River has hovered at or above flood stage for the past month, spilling over the waterfront trail. Last weekend summer finally ushered its way in with brilliant sun, a light breeze and seventy degree days. My feet found their way into Flip-Flops and my Flip-Flops found their way into a huge rock.

Yep, exactly eight days prior to my first marathon, I broke my toe. For the love of Flip-Flops, my toe!

It’s too soon to know whether I’ll be able to amble my way through this weekend’s event or not. Regardless of that outcome, I’m quite thankful to have had the experience of training and the understanding that my body can do so much more than I give it credit for. If I’m sidelined this weekend, I’ll be there rooting my partner on. Not to worry, I won’t be sidelined for long. I’m already signed-up for the Portland Marathon later this fall. My Flip-Flops however will be permanently on the bench.

Insert screeching car sounds here!  I wanted to shout, ”WHAT?  Who told you that?”  But as I glanced in the rear-view mirror I noticed his bottom lip was quivering.  So, I shakily steered the car towards home and tried to pull something reasonable together.  In a panic to help him hold on to his belief I threw out, “Well, you can believe anything you like honey, but I certainly wouldn’t want to risk not believing and having Santa skip our house.”  Ouch!  Not my best parenting moment.   

Fortunately, as fate would have it, waiting in my Inbox was an email from the PNP (Portable North Pole) reminding me that Santa is back and better than ever this year.  The site allows you to upload photos and details that only the Big Man would know.  Then, Santa gives kids a sneak-peak into his workshop, ice-caves where his elves are busy handcrafting magnificent sculptures, and introduces his fleet of reindeer.  All this is neatly delivered via email directly from Mr. Claus. 

For the second year in a row, the PNP saved Christmas in the Seeley house.  The technology is seamless.  Even as an adult, I was completely captivated.  Santa magically knew all about our trip to Rome, and Luke’s first lost tooth.  He pinpointed our house on his radar screen and recommended that Luke help out more during the holidays.  This has prompted a mad dash to do the dishes after dinner each night, but more importantly it’s restored the belief that he wasn’t ready to give up.  I know that in the years to come, Luke’s belief in Santa and all things magical will be relegated to a childhood memory.  But, I also know that for now he still wants to believe and thanks to the PNP he does!

And then, just like that, it happened.  One day his tooth was rock solid, the next it held a slight hint of a wiggle, and hours later Luke bounded into the living room holding his tooth and grinning ear to ear. 

Today the space between seems much wider.  The tiny gap is a reminder of how quickly my child is transforming, and the ongoing realization that there’s nothing I can do to stop it.  As much as I’d like to freeze this moment or wish him back to younger days where he slept on my chest for hours, his evolution through childhood marches on.  I think my only option is to embrace the space, and hope that with each little wiggle I can learn to let go.

But on to other news…my blog is just one of many things that has sat neglected while enjoying this near-perfect Pacific Northwest summer.  It’s been an unusual summer in some ways as we’ve flipped between a flurry of events and ultra-lazy days lounging in the sun.  We’ve been reading some of my childhood favorites, including John D. Fitzgerald’s The Great Brain.  I so love hearing Luke laugh out loud at the adventures of J.D, Tom and Sweyn.  “The Water Closet” chapter has gotten a ton of play in our household.  Some stories, particularly those involving toilets and first grade boys, stand the test of time.

Our trip to Italy may have permanently ruined him for childhood camps.  After talking up how cool the Dino Camp he attended last week was going to be, he was convinced that he and his buddies would be excavating and searching for actual dinosaur bones and historical sites.  His comment after the first day, “Uh, Mom, we just dug for plastic stuff, it wasn’t a real dig site like in Rome.”  Right.  Good to know.

Summer vacation has also consisted of building a secret passage in the hedge between our house and the neighbor’s, S’mores on the BBQ, sleeping in, hours spent exploring outside, and an addiction to the mindless TV show Wipeout. 

While the boys have gone off on muddy fishing adventures, I’ve been working with my publisher on the launch of Underneath the Ash!  I still pinch myself sometimes when I think about it.  Check back tomorrow for a sneak peek of the cover design.  I love it.  I know my mom would have too, and that’s the best gift of the entire summer.

Since our house revolves around all things Star Wars it was only fitting to serve Gordy Yoda pancakes on his special day.  Nothing says I love you dad more than a Storm trooper cut out of fluffy pancake dough or Darth Vader drenched in syrup. 

When Luke and I procured the pancake cutters we also discovered a kid-size Star Wars apron for him to serve them in.  Super cute, plus I figured it could be his standard apron.  Yeah, like aprons get a lot of wear around here…nonetheless he strutted around in the apron and delivered breakfast with flair.  Later in the afternoon, Gordy was surprised to find Luke sitting quietly by himself in his room and his apron stuffed into his garbage can.

Gordy asked, “What’s wrong bud?  What’s your apron doing in the garbage?”

Luke held back slight tears and said, “I threw it away.  It’s your day dad.  I shouldn’t have a gift on your day.”

Gordy scooped him up, removed the apron from the garbage, held him tight and said, “You’re the best present ever bud.”

With a wink to me, they proceeded to check on the world they’re building online.  I think they’ve built a pretty good one here.

Here’s the issue, Gordy is animal whisperer. His gift isn’t limited to one species or specific breed.  Wherever we go animals find him, or better yet he finds them.  I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count how many dogs we’ve returned to owners over the last decade.  Stray cats and raccoons know they’ll find food on our front porch. Vacationing in Cozumel last spring he rescued a turtle crossing the road.  Yep, I said turtle.  So, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that last week while driving home from a leisurely Saturday lunch, Gordy slammed on the brakes, stopped the car in the middle of the road and came back cradling a tiny wild bunny in his hands. 

To compound matters, Luke seems to have inherited the “speaks to animals” gene.  The pleas began the moment he saw the bunny.  “Please, oh please mom, can we keep it?”   There were promises of warm bottles, a covered cage in the backyard, and late night bunny feedings.  Gordy’s sheepish, begging eyes didn’t help, “You know Kate, it doesn’t have a chance out there.”

Oh great, so either I add a wild bunny to our collection of animals or I become know in our house as the bunny killer.  What’s a mom to do?

Enter Google.  And let me just say thank you Google.  Turns out wild bunnies don’t make good pets.  In fact upon further investigation, I discovered that wild bunnies have less chance of survival in human hands than when left to perils of nature.   I further consulted the emergency vet, who assured me the best solution was indeed to return the bunny to the wild.  Probably in an attempt to make us all feel better, the vet suggested we create a nest for the bunny out of a cardboard box and fill it with leaves and twigs.  Luke took this idea to heart, adding baby carrots to attract the older bunnies.  We tucked the nest under a bramble of blackberry bushes and within seconds the little guy hopped back into the vines.  “Go little guy, you’re back home!” Luke shouted.  Yes, he was, and I gotta say I was just a little sad that his home wasn’t ours.

A few hours later, he snuck into his rooming, hollering for us to stay out because he had a big surprise planned.  He emerged in his “fancy suit” just in time for pizza night on the basement couch.  Go figure.  And, come on who doesn’t want to knock back a grape soda and slice of pie in a suit and snap-on tie?

From the suit to the camo tee and Johnny Cash tunes to almond flavored Easter cookies our house is eclectic.  We don’t walk in a straight line every day.Of course none of these things go together.  But, I wouldn’t want them to.  And, maybe we’re just recreating a 2010 vision of the new Rockwell generation.

Luke eagerly posed for pics with the massive collection of Star Wars memorabilia on hand, with the exception of the Stormtroopers which apparently were a little too true-to-life for his taste.  While they cheered to the iconic scores of the Imperial March complete with lasers and exploding light shows, I ran a hot bath, poured myself a lovely glass of red wine and tucked in with a mystery.  Since Luke first discovered Star Wars, he and Gordy have carved out their own “boy zone” around the classic saga.  There are no girls allowed when they break out Lego sets on Luke’s bedroom floor, or battle with foam light-sabers.  I’m fine this utterly sexist mentality.  I love that they have their own traditions, and let’s face it a night by myself in the bath is a very good thing.