1983 - this is not maren or...a note from mom

my mom came to the rescue for this post. similarly to 1982, i don't remember much from my third calendar year of life. i have a still-frame memory of standing in my neighbor's driveway, but that's about it. and so, because i figured my mom remembered a lot more about me from 1983 as well as different things than i recall for most of the past 30 years, she should have some input. so, without further ado, i give you karen hauley. 

Maren said she couldn’t remember much about this year – she was one turning two. So she asked me, her mom, to guest blog 1983 for her. I was 28 turning 29 and I can’t remember much from 1983 either. But pictures are worth thousands of words.

maren (the original “miss ribbons”), scott, & dan in 1983

I texted Maren this morning to assure her I would write this post today – after going for a run to clear my thoughts. She replied, “Have fun on your run. I just finished 8 miles of hills (that’s all there is around here).”

Going for a run. Maren is responsible for me “going for a run”. I’ve been an avid exerciser throughout my life – mostly aerobics and strength. I’ve worked with the best, from Jack LaLanne to Jane Fonda to Billy Blanks to Jillian Michaels. But running?

I was on the track team in Junior High. I excelled at field events (long jump and high jump), participated in short run events (mostly relays as the slower third runner), but I never ran distance events. I’m slow.

During one slow summer – 2002 – Maren coached me off the couch to go for a “run”; a one-mile jaunt around the neighborhood; and I thought I was going to die. Something changed in me that day and I’ve been “running” ever since.

Maren was with me on my first, unforgettable half marathon. At about mile ten, I started to really, really slow down. As I looked ahead on the trail, I noticed Maren. She had long since run ahead of me but was now slowed down and I worried that something was wrong. As I caught up to her I noticed tears on her cheek. Maren doesn’t cry . . . in public, so I knew something was wrong. She placed one of her iPod earbuds in my ear and said, “Listen. It’s our song.” Ryan had been in China for a couple of months and she was missing him. And she was tired. We stopped in the middle of the path and hugged and cried together. We pretty much walked the last two miles of the race . . . and we talked . . . and we finished together.

karen and maren pretending to “run” across the finish line.

That’s when I realized that this life really isn’t a race. It’s a finish. And it’s best if we know we can finish together. Even if we don’t finish at the same time, we can finish together – headed on the same path, crossing the same finish line. I have had times along the path where I can run fast; times I run slow or walk; times I stop to help a neighbor; times I’m offered help. The finish line still waits for me regardless of my speed or the distractions and detours along the route.

My heart is warmed as I watch my children help each other. Four grown children, each married with children of their own, each living in a different state. Yet they are eager to help each other. They all know that they will need each other’s help at different times and they each want to finish . . . together.

karen and kids in 2011

So, not much about 1983, but something about what Maren has taught me. I love you, miss ribbons.

my mom's the coolest, huh? and just for kicks, some photo highlights from 1983. my mom and i have been laughing our heads off cross-country while we looked through old photos and scanned them to post.

 {me, eating}

 {me, bathing with the big bros. - probably because we got messy while eating}

 {me, eating...again - but it was cake on my 2nd birthday, so that's okay}

{me, first time in curlers. and...eating}