Running Myself Ragged So I Can Go Relax

This is the weekend of the Manitoba Marathon. Now, judging from the title, one would think that I am preparing to go and run myself silly on the streets of Winnipeg. No, leave that to my husband who had to fill his free time with SOMEthing, so has been hard at work training. I, on the other hand, run out of necessity- usually from the fridge to the table, from the washing machine to the clothesline, and at night, from bed to bed (I'd hate to lose my momentum, and then notice that I'm so tired I can't run anymore, then people around me would begin to drop dead, and it would be my fault since I stopped running their lives for them).

So, husband's running partner's wife and I (do you follow?) decided that since they'd be having so much joy skipping through the city's streets, that we should be supportive by making their weekend as stress free as possible so as to avoid possible distraction from their goal. What better, more relaxing idea than heading out to the campground? I mean, we are two adults, and there are a mere eight (delightful) children between the two of us.

We plan on crossing the border into North Dakota. I realize that we may look like terrorists, so set myself running about the house locating something resembling birth certificates for my four clones. Apparently they've never been born. I know this because I spent three days overturning every shred of paper in this squalid place. I eventually located three carbon copies of "registration of birth" that we must have signed in order for them to kick us out of the hospital. Someone is going to have to tell Sam though-- HE HAS NEVER BEEN BORN! Although he looks exactly like his father, and versions of his siblings, he may actually be a figment of our imaginations. There is no legal documentation of his entry into this world.

I did find a picture of his sonogram. There is clearly a few round sections in there, and a few sweepy, grey parts. On the top, it succinctly says "Baby #4" in black ink. That's good. Right above the swoops and blobs it says "joyce kehler-hildebra" which is obviously someone sort of like me, although my name is not actually hyphenated, and has a few more letters trailing on the end of it. Still, this looks convincingly official, it is a sheet of paper, (officials like that sort of thing), and the blobby bits look quite a lot like the back of my leg.

I hope the guy at the border crossing is not frightened by my harried appearance. I hope he forgot his glasses at home. I hope he is impressed with my collection of carbon copies and sonograms. I hope we have an incredibly relaxing time watching eight kids in a pool.....