Running with Clementine

My alarm rings at 5:40 each morning. I either spring from my bed ready to carpe the heck out of this diem or languish in self-pity and denial as my eyelids pull me back down into that blissful, post-alarm clock sleep. By the time I extract myself from the gravitational forces of my bed, it's time to get this party started... this is my time!

I brew coffee and tiptoe around the house. I do sun salutations or read the paper or catch up on my grading. But my favorite thing to do during my time is to run.

I strap on a headlamp and my ruby red running shoes. My iPod is set to NPR. I pass through the hallway like a ninja, I dress in the dark, and I open the front door ever so slowly so as not to wake the lightest little sleeper in the house. Nine times out of ten, I don't make it through this silent dance without hearing a soft voice say,"Mama?" Long pause. Maybe she went back to sleep? Then again, loudly this time: "Mama? I ready get up! I go running with you?"

And so I ditch the iPod and bundle Clementine in a hat and jacket over footie pajamas and she climbs bleary-eyed into the stroller. "I go running with Mama!" she exclaims proudly as I wheel her into the darkness. So much for my time, I can't help thinking.

But before I can resent this full-volume intrusion into my morning zen, I remember that third babies don't get their fair share of anything unless they demand it. This is Clementine staking her claim on her mama time. 

So we run, she and I, into the darkness, through fog and light drizzle, around puddles, over bumpy sidewalks, avoiding the paths of morning commuters. The route is as familiar as our conversations:

"I see moon? Where's that moon? Der it is!"

"Who's dat? Dat's a dog? Dat's a squirrel? Where dat squirrel go?"

"We running?" Yes, we're running. "We running!"

My favorite are the whys.

"Mama, why we running?"

"We're running because Mama wants to be healthy and strong."

"Why?"

I want to be healthy and strong because I turned 38 this year and have now lived half of my life without my mom. I want to be healthy and strong so that I can see you turn 38, so that I can know you as an adult and hold my grandchildren. I want to be healthy and strong because exercise is something I can control and getting cancer is something I cannot.

"Mama, why we running?"

"We're running because it's Grandma's birthday and I want to pig out on cheesecake later tonight."

"Mama, why we running?"

"We're running because it was Grandma's birthday and we all pigged out on cheesecake last night."

"Why?"

We all pigged out on cheesecake because I wanted to make a special dinner for the woman who has taught me as much about mothering as my own mom did. We pigged out on cheesecake because sometimes that's just how you celebrate the birth of someone you love.

"Mama, why we running?"

"Because you and Sawyer commandeered my yoga mat and this is the only reliable way for me to get any exercise around here."

"Mama, why we running?"

"We're running because I'm about to spend the next eight hours in a poorly ventilated room with a bunch of sixth-graders and I think my mental health could use the fresh air."

"Why?"

I'm going to spend my day with other people's children because long ago Dad and I decided that he would be the one to stay home with you guys. That we really didn't need two incomes if we were willing to make sacrifices. That Dad could work seasonally and find opportunities to take you with him.

"Mama, why we running?"

"We're running so I can school your brother at basketball. The younger one, at least."

"Mama, why we running?"

"We're running because I had to taste test the fondue recipe before serving it at a baby shower. And I may have eaten the refrigerated leftovers with a spoon the next day."

Someday soon, Clementine will outgrow that stroller. NPR will still be waiting for me and I'll have plenty of my time. Maybe I won't tiptoe so quietly by her bedroom door tomorrow morning.

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