Moving Mormor: A family Affair

After moving again in June, I swore it would be years before a moving truck appeared in our driveway, yet that is exactly where a 26-foot Penske stands at this moment. This time, however, the contents belong to my mother, not us.

Mormor is in Huntsville to stay. Seen here with Serina, center, and Sophia.

Mormor, the Norwegian equivalent of Nana, is our girls’ last surviving grandparent. In 1965, my mom, then Sigrun Haaheim, moved from Norway to Minneapolis to marry my late father, Gjert Hovland, the love of her life. Now she has made another significant move, this time to North Alabama, to live with us. But getting her here took some help.

For starters, my husband, David, and his brother, Mike. The pair actually drove the big rig from the Twin Cities to Huntsville. They survived the 1000-mile journey through Wisconsin, Illinois, Kentucky and Tennessee before finally arriving in the Rocket City.

But before their departure, there was help from other family members. David’s other brother, Jim, and my brother, Larry, helped them load the truck, winding down long hallways and navigating narrow stairwells at my mother’s apartment complex. Earlier this summer, my sister, Heidi, who lives in New Jersey, arranged a business trip to Minneapolis. After hectic work days, she headed to Mom’s apartment to pack up China and other fragile items.

My husband, David, left, and his brother, Mike, after hauling Mormor’s belongings 1000 miles, from Minneapolis to Huntsville.

What has amazed me most through this experience is how many times all of the above, along with David’s other siblings and their spouses, helped us in our previous cross-country moves (there were a few!). I would have been so tired of us by now, but they so willingly helped again. Gluttons for punishment? No, just wonderful people.

My mom’s friends helped, too, boxing up her remaining items before she flew down to Huntsville this past Tuesday. I am grateful to all of you!

Mom is 78 years old and suffers from peripheral neuropathy. While her balance is off, her overall health is good and her mind is sharp. It will be wonderful to have her here as part of our family and household. And I confess: It will be very nice to have a back-up should we need someone to watch the girls!

Mormor will be here to watch Serina and Sophia. More importantly, she will be here to love them. Thanks to everyone who helped make that happen.

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mike and David

mike and David

David, left, and Mike, after completing the 1000-mile drive from Minneapolis to Huntsville, moving my mother’s contents from her “old” home to her new one.

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Wholehearted training for Women’s half marathon

When I lace up for the Women’s Half Marathon in Nashville September 22, I plan on being ready. It’ll be my second half overall, but the first one for which I am properly trained.

Thanks to Hal Higdon’s training program, I expect to do much better in my second half than I did in my first.

Two weeks ago I started following Hal Higdon‘s Novice 2 training version. I almost signed myself on for the intermediate version because I had a tough time calling myself a beginner. After all, I had run for a couple of years now. Three miles for a while, then I graduated to four and five miles, before hitting six miles and running six miles every day.

Every day, that is, until I ran the Huntsville Half Marathon last November. I ran the first eight and vaguely recall how I completed the last five-point-one. I felt terrible and was stripped of all motivation.

In March, four months later, I was finally inspired to run again, very slowly taking on short distances.  When I committed to the Women’s Half, I promised myself, with my whole heart, that I would do it right.

My first two weeks have been relatively easy, but I know Hal is preparing me for the weeks ahead, culminating with the big 13.1. The coolest part in the Novice 2 training? Two free days! Oh, Hal calls them rest days. But I feel like a kid who gets a day off of school and gets to eat sweet cereal in the morning.

Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays are for shorter runs, with increasingly longer runs on Saturdays and cross-training on Sundays. Until I met Hal, it never occurred to me to take days off from my workouts to allow my muscles to recover. While I wasn’t a beginner in my running, I was a beginner in my thinking.

Today’s cross-training involved walking and the elliptical. It felt great and was much different from my old workouts of running. Just running. Every… single… day.

Tomorrow is a free – I mean, rest – day. And I will rest with all my heart, knowing I will do the same on days that call for action!

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Hooked on Disney Channel’s cheesy summer flicks

Roxie, Cyrus, Chris, Bling, Mitchie, Shane, Katelyn and Tess. Stars of Disney Channel’s cheesy summer flicks or my new best friends? Sadly, the lines are getting blurred.

Chris, Roxie and Cyrus struck a chord with my girls and me this summer.

It started with Let it Shine, which premiered with much anticipation June 15. Unfortunately, that was moving day and we didn’t have cable yet. Serina, 7, was devastated. Sophia, 5, was unaffected.

Me? I was slightly bummed. After all, it had dancing, singing, church singing, a moral and a love story.

It’s amazing how many times that movie has aired since then. I bet I have watched it eight times. My girls love it and recite many of the lyrics and one-liners at random times throughout the day. I catch myself doing the same thing! What a great message of being true to yourself and your passion.

I was totally sucked in when Cyrus grabbed the microphone at Atlanta’s Grand Slam rap showdown, revealing his true self to Roxie.  The exchange was heartfelt and Roxie, Coco Jones, was a true talent. (Still shocked that she is only 14 years old!)

My husband’s buddy came by mid-Shine one day. “Is your wife really singing along to a kids Disney movie?” My husband, completely unashamed, simply replied, “Every family has its own kind of craziness.”

Fast forward to tonight when I discovered Camp Rock. I remember seeing the t-shirts and posters a couple of years ago, but we were still on Sprout and Nick, Jr.

So what if it’s the same story line: Someone pretending to be someone  she (in this case) is not, only to come into her own, letting her true talents shine through.

It was upbeat and happy. We loved it. Young people getting stuck on who they are, eventually finding their way in this big, often baffling world.

Isn’t that what we have all done at one time or another? Wanted to be someone else? Felt uncomfortable in our own skin only to try on a different style, size or color?

I have. Maybe that’s why I relate to all these cheesy summer flicks. Since my girls love these movies as much (okay, almost as much!) as I do, maybe those good messages about confidence and strong senses of self will sink in and they will discover, early on, that the skin they are wearing is a perfect fit.

(Serina is already asking about Camp Rock 2 and 3. Yep, way behind the times!)

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Confessions of Big Foot: Sizing up the situation

I am getting out of the closet. At least my running shoes are. And my dress shoes. And my casual shoes. Actually, all of my shoes are busting out.

My shoe size used to be a source of embarrassment. Not anymore!

For years, I lied about the size of my feet. It was a topic of discomfort. Not the size itself, but the reactions I’d get from those nosy enough to ask. I endured my fair share of teasing in junior high and high school, but was stunned by the “OMGs” and “your feet are huge” and “they are boats” that I heard from adults.

Fortunately, times have changed and so have I. There was a time when selections of extended sizes were limited to ugly, chunky, manly shoes. Now we have Nordstrom.com and Zappos.com. Both of these businesses are doing well to accommodate a growing number of people like me who, gasp, have really big feet.

So here is my confession: I wear a size 13.

These size 13 Asics are a perfect fit.

There it is,  out in the open. I was inspired by my recent purchase of Asics running shoes from Zappos. My other pair was extremely worn and replacements were overdue. This week, I received my new Asics in glorious, feminine shades of “castle rock, white and violet.”

‘They are really pretty,’ I thought. Sure they looked big straight out of the box, but when I put them on they looked – and fit – perfectly. After all, they were completely proportionate to my 6’1″ frame. How ridiculous wouldn’t I look running around in a pair of perfectly average 8s.

Granted, more women I know are wearing larger sizes. There are quite a few donning 11s. I even have a sister-in-law who wears a 12! But I haven’t met any fellow 13s so I’ve been playing is safe, professing a size 12, which sounded big, but not too big.

Not anymore. My feet are my friends. I am grateful for them, whether I am running a 5K or walking out to get the mail. My feet have served me well and I am counting on them to cover many more miles throughout my life.

Besides Asics, my closet boasts Brooks, Van Eli, Munro and Trotters, all designers offering size 13s. (Jimmy Choo does too, but I have yet to fork over $200 for a pair of shoes, let alone $500, no matter how much I appreciate my big feet.)

Cheers to my extended-sized “sole” sisters! Embrace your feet and treat them well. Haven’t they done the same for you?

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Home, sweet home

Something great happened this morning. I finally felt as if I could come up for air after being buried in boxes since last Friday. That was when we moved into our new home. Boxes are still piled high in the garage, our mattresses are still on the floor, the kitchen cabinets are screaming, “organize me, organize me!,” and we still don’t have a refrigerator inside the house. (The fridge comes tomorrow!)

A week after moving in, boxes still cover up the garage.

Despite the clutter, I can tell I am getting settled. The first indicator was getting back into my morning routine. I loved it! I got up at 5, enjoyed a cup of coffee, and ran 5 miles along the Huntsville Greenway. I wasn’t tired or sore, as I had been the past several days, and maintained a steady pace.

Serina, left, and Sophia (7 and 5), feel right at home in their new surroundings.

Our daughters, Serina and Sophia, are settling too. They have gone to bed – in their own beds! – for the past three nights. That is huge for us. Granted, Sophia, who is 5, still winds up next to me before my alarm goes off, but I am keen on progress. And that is exactly what we expect to make over the coming days and weeks as we get dishes put away, clothes hung, cabinets filled and the pantry stocked.

We are really grateful to have found this house. My husband and I are named Karen and David, so we were amused to discover we would be buying this home from another Karen and David. (Should make it easy on the neighbors.) The Iveys lived here for 22 years. They raised three children in this house, creating many special memories along the way. While Karen and David moved out more than two years ago, the family’s positive energy remained.

In just a month, my mother, “Mormor,” will be joining us from Minneapolis. This house has the perfect set-up for Mom, who will enjoy an isolated master suite downstairs. When she moves in, we will have a full house, just like the Iveys did.

Now it’s Karen and David Petersen’s turn to create another two decades’ (or more) worth of memories here. Together, with our girls and their last surviving grandparent, we plan on filling this home with love, laughter, faith and joy. More positive energy.

After two cross-country, and several cross-town, moves, I am happy to say: We are finally “home, sweet home.”

Thank you, God.

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Moving day is not packing day – but can I sneak in a run?

My brother-in-law, Mike, once stated the obvious: “Moving day is not packing day.”

Unfortunately, that had not been obvious to David or me. On our major moves to and from Minneapolis and Huntsville, David and I were somehow paralyzed. Or in denial about how much junk, er – belongings, one four-person family could actually collect.

UHAUL

No offense, U-Haul, but after we unload you Friday, I don’t want to see you for a very long time. I’d much rather be running than packing and moving!

But this time we were all over it. Movers are scheduled to come at 9 a.m. to load up the U-Haul in our driveway. (Nothing personal, U-Haul, but you will not be invited back to our next home for a very long time.)

Uncle Mike would be proud of us during this move – our fifth in four years. The boxes are packed and loaded. David worked long into the night to take the beds apart and line everything up beautifully so the process would be as simple and efficient as possible once the movers arrive.

Over the past month, we have been consumed by closing schedules, mortgage requirements and other factors that came into play for this major relocation to a home nine-tenths of a mile south of our current address.

To help maintain my sanity, I have kept running through it all and am set to officially begin my half-marathon training later this month.The Lady’s Speedstick Women’s Half in Nashville on September 22 will come up fast and I want to be ready for that too.

But overall, the move has come first and that state-of-mind has paid off with less chaos and less stress (I didn’t say no stress – just less).

Yesterday a contractor came to finish up the repairs we agreed to make prior to Friday’s closing. Today the guy comes to fix the chimney cap and I’ll be on hand for the movers, ready to pick up any remaining “shrapnel,” as my husband calls it, once they leave. Then I will clean; I’m ready for that, as well.

Tonight, David, Serina, Sophia and I will sleep on air mattresses in an otherwise empty house, the loaded U-Haul in our driveway. A driveway that will only be ours for another 24 hours.

Maybe in between the chimney sweep, the movers and the shrapnel-removal, I can sneak in a run! Now that would be the prize of preparation.

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Moving on: Let the packing begin

My husband jokes that, other than our moves from Alabama to Minnesota and, 18 months later, Minnesota to Alabama, we tend to move just a quarter-mile down the road. That’s a bit exaggerated, but just a bit.

No matter how far you are moving, though, you’ve got headaches. Lots of headaches.

This will be our fifth move in five years. Historically (yes, we have quite the moving history now!), as our friends and family can attest, we have been horrible movers. We have been disorganized, in denial and downright disgusted by the process. Seriously, how much stuff can one family collect in a short period of time?

Fortunately, when we moved into our current home in January we knew it was temporary and therefore didn’t unpack all of our boxes. As a matter of fact, there are still some boxes we haven’t opened from our 2008 move to Minneapolis. And back. When we settle into our “forever” home later this month, it might feel like Christmas as we unpack boxes filled with treasures we thought were long lost.

Why we moved so many times in the past several years doesn’t matter.  It was part of the journey and has led us to the here and now. This is a great place to be. We are packing our belongings in advance, committed to getting it right this time as we anticipate a smooth relocation process.

We are also mentally preparing for my mom’s arrival in July, when she will move from the Twin Cities, her home of some 50 years, and become part of our household and core family unit. That is the real reason for this next move. This next season.

Sigrun Hovland, Mom to me, is 78 now. Her biggest move came when she left Norway for Minneapolis in her 20s to join my father, the late and great Gjert Hovland, who had immigrated to the States several years earlier. This move, which takes my mom from Minn. to Dixie, should be relatively easy. She has been to Huntsville many times and appreciates the pace, the people and yes, even the climate.

The Petersens? In two weeks, we will be moving just down the street, .93 miles curb to curb. And hopefully this time around, we won’t need quite as much Tylenol, avoiding some of our past mistakes that led not only to headaches, but massive moving migraines.

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Racing, running and sometimes walking to the finish at Cotton Row Run

Image

After finishing the 2012 Cotton Row 10K, I had a chance to catch up with my friends and fellow runners, Lori Gierloff, left, and Debbi Ragsdale, center.

What a great day for Huntsville’s 32nd annual Cotton Row Run. It was the 2011 race that got me running further and harder, before an unsuccessful go at the Rocket City Half Marathon last fall led to my (temporary!) physical fitness demise.

After several months of not running, or doing much of anything, I started working out again in early March. I would run a few miles one day and walk several the next. I focused on healthy moderation instead of the obsessive-compulsive “must run six miles every day” that drove me to participate in last year’s half marathon, a 13.1 mile event for which I was ill prepared.

Months later, I found myself among some 3,000 or so others on Memorial Day morning in downtown Huntsville for a 10K Runner’s World ranks as one of the country’s best 100 road races. The Cotton Row Run features an excellent route with a killer upward slope at Mountainwood followed by a nice steep downward run on Bankhead Parkway. But more than that, this event is an excellent way to kick off Memorial Day.

The theme, “Running to Remember,” puts a well-deserved patriotic spark in the runners’ hearts. A prayer, Taps, the Pledge of Allegiance and a meaningful reminder that the U.S. is the “land of the free because of the brave.”

Race-wise, the 2012 Cotton Row wasn’t my best. I did 1:05:54 compared to my first shot at the Cotton Row in 2011 with 1:03:29. But I proved to myself that I could finish the race again. Sure, I wanted to beat last year’s time, but coming up short doesn’t define me. I am giving myself a break – something I don’t think we, as women, moms, wives and even runners, do nearly enough.

Besides, there is always next year!

For results from the 2012 Cotton Row Run, click here.

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Now we have to buy a house? Decisions, Decisions!

So I shared the good news last week: We got an offer on our Huntsville home after 52 days on the market. The days that followed were hectic. The last 24 hours were hell.

SOLD!

After someone made an offer on our house and we accepted, the reality set in that we needed to buy another house. Quickly. The closing was a month away.

So we searched all weekend and narrowed our choices down to two. We needed such a specific set-up. There had to be a master bedroom on the main floor to accommodate my aging, but spirited mother, and ample bedroom space upstairs for my husband and me, along with our high-energy daughters, Serina, 7, and Sophia, almost 5.

The first option was gorgeous, brand-new construction in Owens Cross Roads, “over the mountain,” where we never thought we’d go. But everything was so new and shiny! Glistening hardwoods, wrought-iron railings, jetted tubs, granite counter tops, dreamy stainless steel appliances, and a community pool five doors down.

The new construction was listed at $259,000 compared to the older house, which was listed at $279,000. The price per square foot was significantly less in the older home, though: $80 versus $94. (If you live in a bigger city, please take note: a lower cost of living is just one of Huntsville’s many charms!)

Our new house! They accepted our counter on the counter-offer.

So we struggled with the decision. New or old. The listing agent at the new development enticed us further: $15,000 in free upgrades!

In the end, the value of a larger house that also happened to have granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances (minus the fridge) and beautiful, original hardwoods won over. Plus, we enjoy the character of south Huntsville and our proximity to the Southeast Family YMCA and “our” Publix store.

But we wanted to get the price down closer to the area’s comps. Hence a round of negotiations followed our original offer, which was made at 2 p.m. Monday. The counter to the counter was verbally accepted just after 2 p.m. Tuesday.

Twenty-four hours of anxiety. Stress. Uncertainty.

But what a small price to pay for the long-term gift: An opportunity for our daughters and their last surviving grandparent, their “Mormor,” to develop a deeper relationship that wouldn’t be possible if she stayed in Minneapolis.

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