Solitary and Confinement

On Friday, I began serving my sentence.

EIGHT days of Solitary and Confinement.

Mr. Spie left late Thursday night for a boy’s weekend piggy backed on a week long business trip.

He has left me to battle the natives...

ALL ALONE.

(and let me tell you the native are very restless.)

Nothing is lonelier than your significant other leaving for an extended walk-a-bout.

Now, I know what you are thinking…

Spie, you are not alone. You have four children. There is always someone there.

Yes, yes. It is true. I always have someone here, but there is a huge difference between conversation with an almost three year old and a conversation with an adult.

Recent conversations with my children are interwoven with a lack of logic which sometimes makes me question my sanity. For example, Captain Destruction decided that his shirt had “poop” on it and he had to change his whole outfit. (It didn’t, but don’t try to tell him anything different). He brought me his SWIM trunks (he may be a little swimwear obsessed) to help him put on. I was doing the dishes so I shook the soap off of my hands and put his SWIMSUIT on. He then chastised me for getting his SWIMSUIT wet and had to promptly remove it and find other clothes.

Would this happen with a grown up? Aside from the fact that I hope I never have to have a conversation about poop on a shirt and help said grown-up get their swimsuit on, an adult knows that swimsuits are made to be WET!

Conversation is further limited by content. What I want, nay what I NEED, to talk about and “get off my chest” is not very appropriate for my children as I spend the better part of my parenting trying to get my children to respect themselves and respect others. We talk about how we do not name call or tease. We respect other’s differences and appreciate others for what they are and their potential.

This past week I had to run to Wal-Mart to buy some supplies for Mr. Spie’s week long furlough. I loaded Captain Destruction into the basket part of the cart and was tootle-ing along merrily on my way. Until the big, bad Wal-Mart employee accosted me and said “We prefer that children sit down in the cart so they don’t topple over.” I politely replied that I understood, that CD was sitting, he just stood up, I would appreciate if he was sitting too, and oh, by the way, he is also three. Then, I turned and walked away.

(side note: This is not the first time nor the first store in which I have been approached by the cart police. I need to make a custom shirt that I will wear when I shop anywhere that there is a cart involved that states “Please do not approach me as I will not sue you if my child falls out of the cart. I take full responsibility for my child and his actions.” This will be the complement to my running shirt that states “Go ahead and hit me. I have the right of way and I need some more money for my race entry fees”)

Now, when I related that story to Mr. Spie it was not the above succinct, cleaned up version. It was peppered with mildly strong language and other disparaging things said about all the other people (the person who parks in the middle of the grocery store aisle, the person who coached the girl swimming in the lane next to me who told her to “do the same thing, but don’t let her(meaning me) beat you”, the driver that tried to run me off the road, the person who reacts inappropriately to my race results….. you know, the whole world) that added to my annoyance that day, week, month, etc. Now, it kind of would be counterproductive for me to admonish my kids for speaking ill of others and then turn around and spew the ugliness that oozes from me when I am annoyed.

So, essentially anything that I NEED to talk about is out. Other things I talk about, making my intervals, getting a new training pr, my minute per mile pace, the grocery list, the bills I paid, what I washed that was not clothes in the washer, the things that CD broke, frankly don’t interest my kids. I am sure that they don’t interest Mr. Spie, but he plays the "pretend to listen to Spie and feign interest" game pretty convincingly. So, while Mr. Spie is away, I am in communication lock down. Left alone to solitarily (is that even a word? –now I am starting to talk like my kids), subsequently internally, deal with my emotions and frustrations.

My chosen emotional outlet? Exercise…

Which leads to the second sentence which accompanies his stay-away-cation…

CONFINEMENT

There are no other responsible adults currently in the house (sometimes my being "responsible" is questioned at least by Wal-Mart employees), multiplied by the fact that all of my friends work outside of the home, squared by the fact that my husband and I are transplants (i.e. no relatives in the area) in the lovely state of Wisconsin, all adds up to….

Doing all of my training indoors this week.

Let that sink in.

I live in Wisconsin. We finally are experiencing this season called spring. I have spent the better part of 5 months riding the trainer and running on the treadmill. I have watched every show on HULU and have every lyric on my MP3 player memorized. I can tell you all the ”witty” dialog word for word on my Chris Carmichael training CDs. If blindfolded and dropped in my basement, I can identify the exact spot on the wall that I stare at on the treadmill by texture alone.

These past weeks, I have relished my outdoor runs and rides with the joy of a child eating a popsicle on a hot summer day and now I am in lock-down once again. It is like winter has returned, but not so much with the promise of presents and delicious baked goods.

Once I found out that Mr. Spie was leaving, negotiations were made. As I will not be able to swim while he is away because the Y that houses the pool has no childcare, I have been granted permission to swim during his brief home layover on Monday (he arrives sometime Monday morning and has to leave again early that afternoon) and I negotiated the hiring of a babysitter for two of my bike rides, one being a three hour ride.

I attempted a three hour ride during the winter on the trainer and it was not pretty. There was too many distractions, too much foul language on the movies I deemed entertaining enough to hold my interest for that length time, and too many demands made from the troops – who could not be bothered to ask the general (Mr. Spie) that was seated in the same room with them.

The thought of completing a three hour trainer ride without backup is pure insanity. Before the three hours were up there would be an uprising of gargantuan proportions which would be fueled by Lucky Charms and Toon Disney. The littles would be battling it out cage style to see who is the supreme screamer. The olders would be placing side bets and not breaking it up.

Not.Good.

As I add the hash marks to the aerobars marking down my sentence, I sincerely hope that the parole board takes pity on me and grants me an early pardon.

However, since that is not very likely, please send me a cake.

Not one with a file.

But one like this:

And enclose a responsible adult, capable of handling 4 children ages 9 and under.

Better yet, call my local Wal-Mart and see if "Captain Cart" is available.