how many miles per week?

Family members and friends often ask me about how to start running. There exists a myth that running is reserved only for those who were varsity track stars in their youth. I hope, by now, if you have been reading along, that I have done something to dispel this fiction. Running is a broadly accessible form of exercise with many entry points. It is beginner-friendly, and an extremely patient friend for life, if you’ll welcome it. Another obstacle that often thwarts the novice runner from pursuing distance goals is the time it takes to invest in a training routine.

When I am training for a half marathon race (as I am currently), I rarely have the time to aggressively increase the time I dedicate to running. If I didn’t have the obligations of family, work, and everything else, I would love nothing more than to run almost every morning. However, the reality is I have to be intentional about where and how I spend finite training time. Over the course of my running practice, I have learned that if I run for 20 miles a week, I am able to maintain a level of fitness and endurance that prepares me well for any distance up to a half marathon. On the days I am not running, I find at least one hour a day to walk briskly, usually along hilly terrain (I try to find the time for this walk even on running days). While the net weekly miles don’t fluctuate much (I might get closer to 25 when I am getting into the longest long runs prior to the race), the distribution of the miles across the week evolves as I get closer to race day.

Chopping up my 20 miles into different combinations also gives me variety during a training season. I can customize my week to accommodate a number of factors, ranging from weather to running route. For example, I am currently in the midst of a week with more medium-length runs. This gives me the opportunity to enjoy some different loops that are in the 5-6 mile range, including several exclusively on roads to get prepared for my upcoming road race. Next week, I will change back to a more traditional format with one long run, two medium runs, and one short run.

From left-to-right, a few examples of how I might distribute my weekly miles:

(8, 8, 4); (8, 5, 4, 3); (6, 5, 5, 4); (3, 3, 3, 3, 8)

The quantity of miles a runner needs to cover in a week is personal and dependent upon a number of considerations. For example, the overall training goal can shift plans significantly. If training for a marathon, my weekly mileage will go up steadily over a few months. If transitioning back to running after an illness or injury, I will tackle shorter runs with more frequency, paying close attention to what my body is communicating. During the spring and summer, I have more daylight to work with, so I might naturally increase my weekly mileage simply because there are more hours in the day to do so. The right formula is one that is:

-Sustainable

-Avoids—or better yet, prevents—injury

-Prepares the runner well for race day

-Flexible

Most importantly, if I finish a long run with the sense that I have leftover “pep” that could propel me for another couple of miles, then I know I am training wisely for my upcoming event. If I am hitting little “walls” and struggling to get through the miles, then I know I need to tinker with my approach, whether that means adding more medium runs to support good endurance, or examine my activities on cross-training days. While I may start out training for a race with a general outline or schedule, I find that these micro-assessments and adjustments in response to my levels of energy or fatigue really do make a difference in the overall completion of my goal.

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race recap: nookachamps 10K

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Today, I ran a 10K that I’ve done every year for the past four years. The course is hilly and most of the miles are on road surfaces. The race also served as a check in to see how I am feeling about my upcoming half marathon next month. I was pleasantly surprised by how well things went; I had to weave a little during a crowded first mile, and I took a brief walking break on a steep uphill before mile 3, but the rest of the route felt springy and fast. I finished the race within 3 minutes of my personal best at this event two years ago, and considering I was waddling the course at a 20 minute mile last year in full-term pregnancy, I am pleased with today’s result. When I crossed the finish line, I felt like I could have maintained that pace for another 2 or 3 miles. In the upcoming weeks, I am going to continue my training, but add mileage to the long runs until I am confidently running 10 miles at a good tempo with energy to spare.

 

milk & miles

one

Running and breastfeeding are compatible activities that I have had the opportunity to enjoy with two babies. Each time I’ve learned something different, especially given that I did not start running regularly until my daughter was almost one, but I went back to running only a few weeks after giving birth to my son. In both cases, I learned how to keep the balance of logging miles and making milk for babies at different stages in their development and nutritional needs. I thought I would share a few insights in case it might be useful to a fellow mama runner (or friend/partner of one) in the future.

In the first six weeks of life, a newborn’s stomach is very small and breastmilk is metabolized quickly. Furthermore, so much of nursing fulfills needs far beyond nourishment. Hormones catalyzed during nursing sessions accomplish tasks ranging from bonding to shrinking the uterus and helping internal organs shift back into place. Skin-to-skin contact is important, the mother and baby should really smell one another in the holistic sense to keep these biochemical changes progressing. There are very few people who could jump up and go for a long run right after giving birth anyway (most of us are still in our adult diapers scarfing lukewarm meals one handed while crying over everything), but, needless to say, I think this is a time when breastfeeding should really take priority over any type of routine exercise.

During the fourth trimester, the first three months of a baby’s life, breastfeeding begins to hit a more routine stride. With my son, I started to really pursue running once he was about 2 months old. At this point, I could tank him up with milk before a nap, leave him snuggled with his dad, and enjoy 3 miles around the neighborhood without worrying. I planned to go back to work with both kids, so I began pumping pretty early on. As the months progressed, I felt confident going out for longer runs knowing that my partner could always give the baby a bottle if I wasn’t there.

two

In my experience, by about 7 or 8 months, a baby is getting nourishment from some solids/table foods in addition to breastmilk, although breastmilk comprises the majority of the diet. This is when I felt like I could really enjoy longer runs without the pangs of worry about missing a nursing session. The challenge during this period for me with both babies was maintaining ample milk supply in the context of working and pumping. So I was pretty intentional about nursing both before leaving for a run and when coming back to keep my body in that routine (breastfeeding is, at a simplistic level, supply and demand). For longer race days, I’ve found that a small hand pump and cooler bag stashed in my gear bag has provided relief and or peace of mind when I need it. By the way, I have seen many nursing mothers pump before the start of races (you start to see it when you’ve done it!).

With babies and toddlers one and older, daytime nursing becomes more infrequent. I stopped pumping at one year with my daughter, and plan a similar schedule with my son, with the commitment to nurse at night/when I am home as long as we are both enjoying it. As a runner, I look forward to this chapter of the nursing journey because I inevitably earn back a lot of bodily autonomy and the logistics of pumping and nursing become nearly inconsequential. Keeping up good hydration and nutrition is the key to maintaining a milk supply for as long as is desired.

three

Breastfeeding eats up about 500 calories a day, and quite a bit of fluid. I find it is much easier to become dehydrated when training and breastfeeding, so drinking a lot of water is really important. I start the morning by drinking 16 ounces minimum, right off the bat, before any coffee or other beverages. I also eat a lot of nourishing calories frequently through the day. Protein is often elevated to star status when we talk about diets for athletes, but carbohydrates and fats are foundational for both the glycogen stores one requires for regular running (especially distance running) and the ability for a body to make and sustain milk supply. Some of my staples in addition to complete meals are homemade banana bread with peanut butter on it, Greek yogurt with granola, hummus and pita, avocado and corn chips… you get the idea. I am constantly snacking, especially at night before I inevitably spend a few of my wake-ups nursing.

There is anecdotal data out there about how running changes the taste of milk, or how one should shower before nursing because the smell/taste of sweat is somehow a barrier to the baby nursing, but I’ve never experienced any issues. Supportive and comfortable sports bras are always important, but especially for a lactating runner as underwire or constriction can cause clogged ducts and other minor (albeit obnoxious) complications. Most of my running shirts already have a quarter zip at the neck, so nursing in my gear is usually simple. By the time a baby is approaching toddlerhood, they are usually too busy to demand nursing right away, anyway. Lately, I have enjoyed that transition as I now come home from my runs and cherish, with gratitude, the fact that I can take a hot shower uninterrupted before doing anything else.

four

Running has made many things, including motherhood, so much healthier and more enjoyable for me. There is no reason why breastfeeding should be a barrier to maintaining a running practice; in fact, best practices for proactive self-care when nursing perform quite a bit of double duty for keeping a runner healthy and happy, as well.

return to distance

I am settling back into the routine of training for a half marathon after taking a year and a half away from distance running to be pregnant, give birth, and recover. There were a few races sprinkled in there, with running at shorter lengths comprising an increasingly regular part of my exercise schedule for the past year. I have to say that I am both glad I waited to embark on distance training, and that I am also filled with joy about being back to this beloved journey of gradually building endurance and physical strength to go long.

I have always framed running practice as a long-term relationship; there are seasons of life when other responsibilities and activities take priority over training, and then there are the openings that present themselves to return to a deeper commitment of time and energy. After a challenging fall of colds and sickness; one that required the patience to rest (admittedly something with which I struggle), I started to enjoy that natural paradigm shift, that changing orientation to possibility. The reward of returning to regular long runs is tremendous. I missed the self that emerges only during those solitary journeys—I missed that old friend inside of me. I missed the quiet—oh, the quiet! I love my children, but I think most mothers of young kids would agree that there is nothing like an uninterrupted thought. I missed the nothingness, the plateau of hitting the zone, when time and effort recede to the background hum, and the flight of the body becomes one with the mind.

I am revisiting a half marathon I ran three years ago, when I was at my fastest speed. I do not expect to touch this record. Bodies evolve and goals shift. I desire two things: to run the entire course, and to finish. And while the final outcome of race day excites me, I have to admit that the process of getting there is my prize this time around. One foot ahead of the other, breath locked in relaxed rhythm, the changing landscape ahead welcoming me along.

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being with running, reclaiming myself

It’s been some time since I last updated this blog. There were certainly topics I wanted to write about, but finding the opportunity was a challenge. In the half year since I wrote, I defended a dissertation and earned my doctorate, took maternity leave, returned to work, kept two humans alive, and found my way back to running.

1

After my son was born, I was immediately thrown into the intensity of defending my dissertation while sometimes going more than 24 hours without genuine sleep. My postpartum anxiety monster gnashed its teeth intensely, often appearing at one or two in the morning. Sometimes the tension and creaking of my own jaw would keep me from resting my head completely on the pillow. Like most (or perhaps every) new mothers, I held solitary nocturnal vigil. Wide-eyed and unmoving, I would listen to the baby breathing. After nursing, the hourglass would reset, and I would battle insomnia through the despair of hoping for another 90 minutes of “sleep” before the next feeding. My saving graces in these months were two rituals. First, I left the house every day, sometimes more than once a day, and walked outdoors with the baby. It was not uncommon for me to walk for 8 or 9 miles a day. The movement and fresh air was an anchor that kept me present in the here and now of the natural world; ushering me in to a safe space of familiarity and reflection at a time when it was challenging simply to converse with other people (let alone take on the entertaining we are often left to haphazardly burden ourselves with as new mothers receiving guests). Second, I started attending an antepartum support group. Every Thursday morning, I’d walk myself and my baby to the neighborhood women’s health collective and observe the sacred 90 minutes of sharing without judgement or advice. It was the medicine I needed to stay well.

As the summer began, the fog started to lift, and I slowly began to feel myself again. My sleep became more regular; the anxiety subsided, and I returned to some normalcy. Going back to work was a positive shift. I found renewed energy and space for family and friends. The baby became more interactive. I had more time for my oldest, time for the one-on-one connections and activities that were snatched away right after the arrival of the second. I feel so well and complete again; balanced and empowered. And my running practice reclaimed its position in my priorities, once again a welcome routine.

2

Motherhood is hard and exhausting. Time soothes the aches, but at its own pace. And although I feel strong and capable of handling the daily trials of work, family, and everything else, I am aware of how easy it is to become overwhelmed by commitments and tasks in a society forever praising us for being busy and thinly spread. I especially reflect on this conflict as a person who craves involvement and participation, who seeks to learn by doing. Some days, many days, I feel like there are not enough hours. And, I often remember that I am still operating from a position where sleep may be scarce.

As I launch into the school year, my calendar replete with volunteer obligations, my activities, and my daughter’s activities; the schedules of an elementary school, a daycare, a university, and my partner’s Ph.D. dissertation looming on the horizon, I am especially grateful for my running practice. Because, unlike many activities, I feel that running is a “being” rather than a “doing.” I feel that running creates the space and time for myself rather than taking away from it. It is self-care that provides me with an escape. To simply move through beautiful surroundings, one foot behind the other, hearing my own breath and my own heart.

3

During some seasons of my practice, running has been a “doing”—extremely goal-oriented, athletic, and competitive. However, as I ride the wave through the rest of this postpartum year, running is simply the place I go when all other aspects of my life appear full to capacity (or perhaps even sloshing over the sides). I keep moving forward.

Postpartum Update

snow walk

I am writing you from the other side of the pregnancy journey—our baby boy made his appearance three weeks ago on Groundhog Day. I was able to experience another natural labor and birth that was thankfully free from complications and relatively easy-going. Labor itself was more of a marathon than a sprint, with prodromal labor for days leading up to the birth, and everyone expected the real deal to move quickly. Instead, I spent the night at the birth center with an active labor that kept starting and stalling. I dilated to almost 9 centimeters without my water breaking, and the baby’s head couldn’t move down and engage. As the sun rose, my husband and I ended up taking a walk around the neighborhood and getting coffee. When we returned without any changes (other than bagels and mochas), I elected to have my water broken. About one intense hour later, Ruben emerged from some fast and furious pushes. I was relieved to be done with pregnancy and birth!

I learned from my older child that the first week postpartum is the true test of survival. Therefore, I took it very easy this time. I shunned away visitors and stuck to my bed. Even so, I had an itch to get fresh air every day, and by the end of the week, I was doing a little mile loop around the neighborhood. As I continued to heal, I resumed my walking practice, and now I am happily up to my pre-birth daily mileage. When I head out to walk, baby snuggly resting in his carrier, I feel like I am putting on an oxygen mask. It is soothing to connect with nature, get my blood pumping, and return to my favorite hobby—observing the minutia of the changing seasons (we’ve had everything from sunshine and blossoms to snow storms the past two weeks).

I am finally starting to feel up to testing out a return to running in the coming days. I plan to ease in with short distances, and a run/walk combination. In addition to walking, I am working on rebuilding core strength (especially after pushing out a 9-pound baby). I feel like my body is gradually falling back into place. I put myself to bed very early, and sleep when I can. The experience of birth is often described as a fog, and I find the comparison to be quite accurate. Day by day, the misty cloud cover dissipates, and the surroundings come into a slightly clearer view. The newness becomes normal, and a return to routine is found. I continue to feel as though an active pregnancy and postpartum recovery (as soon as I was able to return to activity) facilitated a much easier transition this time. I look forward to running some miles in the very near future!

The Joys of a Small House

I know I usually write about running, but I am going to take the time to explore something different today…

More than five years ago, my husband and I started the process of buying our first house. After renting across different neighborhoods and parts of town, experiencing everything from apartments that made you wonder each morning if your car would have all its windows intact, to a sleepy house in a dark wooded community with poor insulation and happy-go-lucky ants, we found ourselves approaching the market with an impending heavy sense of permanency. He is a country mouse and I am a city mouse, but by all standards, we were both very lucky to grow up in spacious family homes with wonderful back yards and, quite uniquely, houses that remain in our family to this day. Neither of us had moved around much as kids, and with our own baby daughter quickly gaining her mobility, we were hungry to put down roots and find our Family Home.

We looked at many different houses. Some were suburban and expansive. Some appeared straight out of the Brady Bunch. Others were Victorian, narrow, and only slightly terrifying. Houses that had curb appeal only to be followed by crumbling interiors. Houses that were beautiful but somehow not quite right. Houses that were right on busy thoroughfares; houses in the middle of developments devoid of sidewalks. Finally, a completely unremarkable house was listed in the area of town of our dreams. A place where tree-lined streets and old houses preserved a neighborhood feel that could not be duplicated by cul-de-sac; a place where overgrown gardens and backyard chickens bordered the alleys; where the local elementary school had no bus service because every child assigned lived within a ten minute walk. We fell in love, and we put in an offer on a house that was home to several generations of college renters, beige carpets oddly stained, white-washed walls hiding, I’m sure, a multitude of sins over the years, and a large fenced backyard overgrown with bindweed.

Over the years, this house has become a member of our family. Slowly, we made improvements to the place; doing what we could afford at a piecemeal pace. The windows were updated and the floors replaced; the walls painted and appliances upgraded. Gardens were built and tended. Our hodgepodge of furniture was configured and reconfigured over and over again to achieve new pathways and spaces. Baby-proofing gave way to play spaces. Play spaces are now giving way to homework spaces. As we embark on the addition of a second child, we must once again find spots and corners for the playpen and the highchair… the swing, the crib…

Our house is small. It is not tiny, but it was built in 1903, when living quarters responded to needs and not luxuries. A transplant from the Midwest built the house for his new bride. There, they lived with her parents and the children that followed. Several other families inhabited the house over the decades, through bad winters, through wars, through illness… and here it is, still standing. As I like to tell my family and friends, the house is full of happy ghosts. Sometimes I think about what it must have been like with several children living under that roof. It gives me pause for thought as I find myself craving, from time to time, the type of basement rec room that could hide away all the toys.

Our house is small, but it is joyful. Of course we dwell on how immediately pleasurable it would be to live in a larger footprint, to have separate bathrooms, rooms tucked away for specific functions, and ample space for guests. But, as I have continued to experience the privilege of living in this old house, there are so many things for which I am grateful. Our family lives a life connected; you can always hear where anyone else is. The creaking floors of an aging house give away clues to the whereabouts, even of our cat, when she attempts to hide. We don’t stay angry, because we can’t stay angry. There aren’t enough square feet to ensconce oneself in a fortress of solitude; the hallways are narrows and the bedrooms are close. One person’s bad day quickly becomes a family snuggle on the bed and an invitation for the sweetest empathy and comfort. Our stuff isn’t that important. We get rid of things without much attachment; there is no garage or basement in which to store crates of tchotchkes we will never again lay eyes on. Over the years, we’ve become much more discerning about what we will bring in. We spend most of our time physically together; our rooms are nearly all common spaces. The activities of living, from making coffee in the morning to brushing teeth at night are experienced in the intimate community of family. The table is a magnet for activity; it pulls us in for meals and for arts and crafts; for math worksheets and dissertation research. Off the kitchen, it is never far from a plate of crackers or a mug of tea. We live at our table. Because our living spaces are smaller… we go outside! A lot! After dinner walks are a ritual that provide us with that breathing space away from the immediate clutter of dirty dishes. We hike, we run, we tend to be active outdoors and tired indoors. A small house is wonderful for being tired and cozy. At night, I can hear the whole house breathe and settle. I can sense my daughter sleeping and well… though down the hall, she is very near. We feel a closeness.

As I reflect on these joys, I feel great fortune to live out a continuing history of family life within the studs and walls of this old house. When I was a child, my family would go to Finland for a few weeks every summer to stay in a rustic summer cabin by a lake. Childhood memory is a fickle phenomenon. Even though those weeks at the summer home were insignificant in length, compared to the rest of the year, they remain the scene for the bulk of my detailed memories. During those summer weeks, we traded our large family home on the hillside for a much simpler life. We slept in a one-room cabin, one larger bed on one side and a metal bunk-bed set on the other. Many nights, and probably at the expense of my parents’ rest, all four of us would end up in the larger bed together. I think I remember these weeks so particularly well because of the fact that we spent so much time in close togetherness. You couldn’t really stomp off and slam a door in any of the small cabins on the property. Stuff was minimal, and most play quickly became imaginary. The outdoors beckoned, and transformed into the ultimate living space. I think of this fondly and bridge it to my own experiences living in our home.

Sometimes I look at newly constructed “family” homes, and I am in awe of the attention paid to sequestering the activities of daily living. I can think of many homes I’ve seen where not even kids had to share bathrooms; each bedroom came with a television; the dining spaces, while expansive, had no marriage to a kitchen. Adults have their own wing; rooms become proprietary… In other words, I could look at the space and appreciate the temptation, but also realize how it invited isolation. Frankly, I think all in my family are better people for the requirement that we share our spaces and our stuff. We must grow naturally to consider each other’s routines, quiet time, needs, and interests. And while we sometimes squeeze to accommodate guests at our table and around our couches, our house is a home that fits us quite well. Let the joy of living closely continue through the seasons ahead.

 

august update

running

A little update about running and this pregnancy. At 16 weeks, I am feeling really good—pretty much my normal self. I am glad to experience higher energy levels and endurance once again. I am back to running 4-5 times a week, which is of great benefit to my mood and my body. I try to fit as much movement into the day as possible, even with a desk job. Even before this pregnancy, our family made it a goal to be in the habit of walking after dinner, and that routine continues to keep me feeling good through the evening. Running itself is more comfortable in the last few weeks, as my physical body acculturates to pregnancy. Earlier on, I carried a lot of bloat and running felt sloshy and off-kilter. Now that my bump is actually uterus, my body mechanics feel more coordinated. I am paying close attention to drinking a lot of water, eating a well-rounded diet, and getting as much sleep at night as I can (it is really difficult for me to nap).

My running practice has always helped to pull me, a very future-oriented person, into a greater appreciation for the present. In this sense, the ability to run more lately is bringing me a sense of harmony with this season of pregnancy. It is tempting and natural for me, right now, to want the fast-forward button. Though infants bring their own challenges, I have, admittedly, felt impatient this time around. For several weeks, I mourned a perceived loss of body autonomy. I am less process-oriented with this pregnancy and sometimes anxious about external expectations to emote/demonstrate/perform differently. However, running cools those flames of worry and also, perhaps most refreshingly, reminds me that I am still the woman inside of me. In a society where pregnancy is often contextualized as medical, delicate, essentially feminine, and perfectly acceptable for objectification, running brings to the forefront several antidotes: strength, resilience, ownership of self and body, independence, and health.

The wildfire smoke haze that dominated much of the month is gone, and last night I woke up to the sound of an unexpected nighttime rain. The breeze touches the skin with a hint of crispness. Dead, dry leaves line the trails, but the ones attached to their branches are starting to redden. Shortening days usher in an earlier golden hour of sunset. I find myself smiling nearly every run these days, because I am here in this movement, and because I am here in this space between seasons.

Happy trails!

july update

13 weeks 2

Here I find myself, pregnant with my second child, and continuing my running practice. The past several weeks have been both exciting and exhausting; challenging in ways I can foggily remember, but also novel in their own unique season. I remain curious and appreciative about what seeing my running practice through a pregnancy will bring. Reflecting on the first trimester, I am very thankful that I knew to keep moving in whatever way I could. Some weeks, running was too unsavory. Even through that slump, I could still find joy in long walks. However, as the flu-like symptoms of early pregnancy subsided, I began to regain my tolerance for running. And then, just as I resigned myself to several months of a more complicated relationship with running, in a fortunate turn of events, running began to feel both joyful and fun again.

I feel like my running practice fits so well with this pregnancy for a few reasons. It brings me strength and clarity during a time when other parts of my biology sometimes feel out of my control. Especially recently, running provides me with that really wonderful combination of endorphins that makes me feel happy and comfortable. This time, pregnancy feels so much less process-oriented; the details and the concerns of the first time are not present, and would also seem almost repulsive at this time. I find I want to just be, and to be peaceful. In my life, a run or a walk in solitude equates to a gift of peace.

In a practical sense, as I near the end of gestation with my other baby, my dissertation, running gives me that mental space to play with ideas. I am particularly grateful for the creative and intellectual energy spun up through locomotion. I am finding and focusing on renewed hunger for zooming in, being present, and grappling with my projects and goals day-by-day. In some ways, this change in my physiology is shifting my mental habits to be more thoughtful, less decisive, and increasingly open to variation.

I do not have grand expectations or ideas of how the next 6 months will unfold, but I am pleased with the balance I currently have. My intention is to honor the practices that make my body and mind feel healthy and strong, even if those evolve from running to something else. In one way or another, many miles and milestones to go.

while you were sleeping

morning run

Image description: Morning sun ray shines through tree branches. A crow flies above.

I woke up early this morning. The light was fading into my eastern-facing bedroom window by 5:00 AM. I was up even before that, mentally busy and reflective. I remembered how, six years ago, I would watch the dawn slowly creep into the house as I listened to my sleeping newborn, soaking in the precious stillness of the time between night and day. The days were lonely and the nights were tiring, but the in-between would always bring a smile to my face. This morning, stirring from the covers, I turned off my alarm, trudged to my closet, and grabbed some running clothes. I could either be awake and horizontal, or awake and on the road. I decided to ditch bed and greet the morning on foot.

There is a great peacefulness in leaving a slumbering house at daybreak. The roads are clear of cars, and the crossing lights turn immediately in my favor, as though my fingers shoot out electricity. The dew glistens on grass, the clouds part away to frame slanted sun rays, and the birds indulge in the day’s first mating songs. As the run progresses, I encounter a handful of other runners. They are smiling, too. We share a secret euphoria. No troubles from the day are being hashed out or replayed; they simply haven’t happened yet. Traversing the streets of a quiet town evokes the euphoria a child feels on a snowy morning; that sense of stillness; that sense that my surroundings are my own private treasure.

Eventually, I glance down at my watch, and realize it is time to head home. The morning begins to ripen. Car doors open and shut and silhouettes are seen in kitchen windows. The neighborhood is waking up. I return, quietly, through the back door. Gently removing my shoes, I softly walk back up the stairs to my daughter’s bedroom. Sitting down at the foot of her bed, I watch her slowly stir from sleep. Her bright green eyes flash open. She takes her warm hand, placing the palm on top of my knee. “Mama! You’re home.”