life, in general {mud and margaritas}

This past weekend I traveled to Central New York with my kids to visit family and, mainly, to run a mud run with my mother.


Here we are…war paint, matching shirts, ready to get dirty…


Did I say war paint?  Yes.  War paint.  Really.



DnA…Donna & Anne (Someone, ahem, is a little corny.  But great!  But a little corny.  I love it!)

Everything was on the up and up (besides my complaining about getting talked into running through slop and mud, over logs and obstacles, into muddy ponds, all for fun).  Once I got started it wasn’t so bad.  Messy, but not bad.  Then it all came to a screeching halt when I climbed out of a muddy pond after going down a slip and slide to hear my mother panic and tell me she thinks she broke her foot.



She didn’t break her foot.  Even better, she broke her fibula in three places, so she found out after a visit to the ER and orthopedic surgeon.  Needless to say we didn’t finish.  We didn’t get a medal.  We didn’t get our usual celebratory beer.

Why am I sharing this?  Because it was devastating and horribly painful for my mother?  Because I want to share a story of woe?  No.

Because I want to share a story of compassion and love by a toddler and preschooler.  When I told my daughter that she would have to be extra careful around Gramma Donna, that she hurt her leg, and can’t do all the running around and playing she would like (i.e. cartwheels, kickball, etc), her response was, very seriously, “I promise I will take care of her like I always do”.


And my son, all 2 years of him, gently rubbed Gramma’s arm and asked “you ok?”.  He proceeded to ask that for the rest of the weekend as well.

It was so very sweet.  And a reminder of how loving and gentle and caring our little ones can be amidst all of the temper tantrums, yelling, pulling, hitting, “NO”s and overall misbehavior.

I will also share that a broken leg and crutches didn’t stop us from celebrating Cinco de Mayo with some margaritas, sombreros, good food, mustaches, and maracas.





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