defeat and success.

The last several days have been so very long. Little E's sickness morphed into a monster that gobbled up the entire household. We survived, but we were beaten down and shoved around by a gang of germs in the process. Not fun.

The poor girl is still not fully well, but she is so close. Yesterday she slept her first full night in nearly a week, praise the Lord of the heavens.

We needed that sleep, people. We needed it BAD.

Since I last wrote, most of us have endured the mother of all stomach viruses and the twin wonderboys now have another nasty cold. You know, because after the regular flu and a stomach flu, why not? They're being excellent sports about the whole thing, staying as happy as possible but every few minutes remembering they must be held lest their sweet little hearts explode from the sadness of feeling like poo.

Like manna from heaven, my dear in-laws swooped in to hold fussy babies and cheer up an ailing sister and relieve a tired papa who forfeited nearly four full days of sleep to care for the rest of us sicklings. They are angels on earth, I tell you.

Somewhere between gallons of gatorade and obsessive phone calls to the pediatrician, the consignment sale and the first-ever 5k still happened. I'm not sure if we achieved our goal (to sell outgrown clothes/toys and purchase the next phase of clothes/toys while breaking even Steven moneywise), but I do know I carried out less than a third of what I carried in to sell. And considering how badly our house needs to be purged of stuff, this alone is a success.

The Hub and I rocked the seller's pre-shop, buying (pretty much) only what we needed and at the right (for the most part) prices.

And the kids now have clothes for summer.  Success.

And the boys have some killer new play-with-me-while-mama-sits-down-for-two-seconds toys. Double success.

And the girl has now been rewarded for her long-term potty achievements with a gaudy-yet-fabulous, used, tricked-out, purple princess bike. Super duper quadruple success.

And now, displayed proudly on our refrigerator amongst grocery lists and works of art, is something I am quite proud of: my first-ever 5k bib.  Number 1717. Has a great ring to it, doesn't it? I thought so. And, as if the 5k stars aligned just so, I happened to place 17th in my age group of female runners. Out of 64.

I'm going to be honest. I was really proud of myself.

Many runners may scoff at a 10:04 pace, but not this girl. And also, because he is awesome like that, not this guy.

That's my running mentor and male cheerleader, Neighbor Duane, standing with me at the starting line. What would I have done without him?

For starters, I wouldn't have known about the group in the first place or that it was okay to join late since the Great Blizzard of 2011 knocked everyone back a week. I wouldn't have known to wear a hat to keep the rain out of my eyes the night that a monsoon soaked the last half of our run. And perhaps most importantly, I would have no reflective gear. So thanks, friend.

And did I mention that my husband busts his tail to get home in time for me to make my evening runs because he knows how important it is to me to get out of the house and see adults and breathe fresh air and allow my body to move and exercise and run run run away and back again? What a prince.

[This prince, upon seeing my top-twenty-in-my-group finish, said, "You may be in their top twenty, but you'll always be in my top five."

Ladies, marry a man who makes you gut laugh. You will never, ever regret it.]