Legend has it that once upon a time there was an unathletic girl who attempted to break that mold. Since team sports were out, lest she torture other people who actually were athletes, she went out for the cross country team. Which was interesting since she didn’t really like to break a sweat or you know….. run.

Legend also has it that the at the first actual meet she discovered yet again how much she disliked running. And so when she spotted a cluster of trees up ahead she went in said cluster and “fell” limping her way out the other side. Thankfully her “injury” kept her out a few meets and then continued to “flare up” from time to time.

But somehow despite all that I, I mean the girl in the legend, discovered as an adult that she actually doesn’t mind sweating so much. She loves kickboxing because it makes her feel like she could kick some butt in street fight. And Pilates has become her happy place. Running though? Yeah, still not really a fan. But she has found that if she doesn’t break a sweat a few times a week she loses her sanity.

Many years later (well not THAT many years because she is still very, very young) she would have a daughter who is like her in so many ways. So imagine her surprise when her daughter came and asked her for running shoes so she could start running. Like on purpose.

Her daughter went out for her school’s running team and seems to be enjoying going every week. Mostly because she is waiting for the week where they practice throwing the spear {javelin}, but she is still going every week. And last week her mother went to check out her practice, so proud of her daughter and her athletic aspirations.

She sat and watched all the runners run by and wondered what happened to her daughter. Maybe she wasn’t running this one? Then as she was about to give up she saw her daughter and a friend slowly running up the hill. As her daughter caught her eye she flung herself to the ground and wailed, “Mom, I can’t possibly run anymore!!!” (it is possible we are more cut out for drama) But darn it if she didn’t pick herself up and finish. Yeah, she walked a bit and complained a lot (truth, see drama above), but she finished.

Since it seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and perhaps athletics aren’t our strong suit, I really want to encourage Lily in pursuing her inner athlete. Encourage her to know that being the best isn’t the thing. But just trying and persevering is the thing. And that the most important thing is finding something you have fun doing. And then kicking butt at it in your own way.

I am beyond excited to announce that this Friday Nike will be hosting Lily and I for the Nike Young Athletes Innovation Summit on Friday. We might not be the best athletes there, but I am so excited to take one more step on the journey to help Lily embrace trying new things that she isn’t naturally great at. She is already asking about tennis and volleyball so we are going to jump before she gets discouraged or hears she isn’t good enough.

I am seriously giddy with excitement to travel with my daughter. I crave one on one time with her so this is such a gift to me. And we get to hear all about Kids Nike FREE Run: If your feet flex, shouldn’t your shoes flex too? Must-have flexibility for young feet. Sounds great for my little track star.

I can’t wait to share with you everything I learn. I will be tweeting and Facebooking (oh whatever spell check, you know that is a word) live from the event on Friday and recapping in a blog post as well. So stay tuned!

Disclosure: Compensation was provided by Nike via Glam Media. The opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are not indicative of the opinions or positions of Nike.

This week my 8 year old labored over a drawing for what seemed like an eternity. She draws a lot but this drawing seemed to be more serious. She was putting her heart into every single detail.

When it started it was a beautiful pair of eyes and it became clear she was drawing a lady. I remember this age fondly. The age when you begin to draw detailed people and faces instead of stick figures with a few of their limbs missing. And growing up as a girl, one of my favorite things to draw were fancy ladies.

She proudly showed me her drawing and it was truly beautiful. Then I curiously noticed that her lady had a nose piercing.

I got my nose pierced about 5 years ago. I had wanted to do it for a long time but something held me back. I wasn’t sure it was me. Now that I have had it for this many years it is just a part of me I don’t even think about.

But as I noticed it on her drawing I remembered that most of her drawings of “fancy ladies” lately have had their noses pierced. And then it hit me. My daughter thinks I am beautiful.

What an awesome moment right? Except the weight of what that means also hit me. For my daughters, I their main standard for what is beautiful.

I am that standard when I am dolled up for a night out with their daddy. I am also that standard when I stand sideways and lament the extra cushion around my middle. I am that standard when I am confident running errands with limited makeup. And I am that standard when I complain about my boring straight hair. The straight hair they inherited.

That deafening voice that tells me I am not pretty enough or thin enough needs to be silenced. Certainly I don’t need to voice those thoughts out loud, but it also needs to be quieted in my head. Because my girls they are watching and listening. And I don’t want them to see themselves as anything but beautiful. Especially the one drawing this picture for me. She looks so much like her mommy.

After Sam, we decided our family was complete. Actually we just decided that from now on, if we were going to add to our family, the growing the baby part would be outsourced. Which is awesome because I really suck at that part.

So while it is nice to finally give a go at losing the baby weight, there is some baby weight that I am having a hard time parting with. The baby weight that comes in the form of a squishy, cuddly baby.

I am a baby person. I can’t get enough of them. And although the thought of sleeping again is appealing, I am having a hard time wrapping my brain around never holding one of my own again.

This year we have gotten rid of diapers. We have gotten rid of the pacifier. And this weekend, we got rid of the crib. Yep. Silas is in a “big boy” bed. Tonight after he fell asleep I went in to check on him and there was my little boy. In a huge bed. I swear to you I am going to be that creepy mom in that creepy book who creeps in her kid’s rooms at night after they fall asleep.

In general it is a good thing of course. And we don’t know what foster care will hold. Maybe that crib will find itself full again. But in the meantime I can’t help but be a little sad. And for tonight, I just might sneak into each of their rooms one more time and breathe in a little hoping to catch the last lingering scents of my babies.