You know those moms who regularly post photos of their most recent 5Ks or marathon runs? I am not one of them.

A 13.1 or 26.2 decal will never be on my vehicle, and you will never see me in a running bib.

And I’m perfectly OK with that.

I have a lot of respect for the devoted mamas I know who run every day. For most of my friends it’s less about staying fit (though they are). Many of them tell me it’s what keeps them sane. It’s that time of day they reserve for themselves, when all the wants and needs of children melt away as endorphins defeat stress.

It sounds wonderful, which is why I’ve happily cheered them on from the sidelines.

While running relieves stress for my friends, it actually gives me stress. Everything from finding the right sports bra to wondering how far a person can go without being able to feel their legs has plagued me during my attempts at running.

The attempts have been many. Several times I was going to do this 5k or that 5k, or choose running as a way of life. The only problem: I hate running.

Cycling? Sure. Long walks? Sure. Elliptical? Sure. Swimming? Sure.

Given that I feel this way, it makes perfect sense that I’d buy a jogging stroller.

But I didn’t buy the jogging stroller for athletic reasons.

When my husband and I were testing different models, we fell in love with the jogging stroller simply for the way it turned a corner with ease.

Some of the previous strollers I’ve owned were difficult to push. If you’ve ever pushed a stroller that had a locked wheel, or a shopping cart with one of those freakishly-huge masses of dirt and dust stuck in the wheel,  you know what I mean. Now imagine that feeling every time you push a stroller.

To a mom on the go, a good stroller is essential. The jogging stroller is that good stroller, providing greater stability, mobility and a smoother ride for both parent and baby.

We can’t wait to use it when our little girl arrives, and we will most certainly use it on the Rail Trail.

But we won’t be jogging.

I had high hopes for this weekend.

British actor Henry Cavill plays Superman in “Man of Steel.”

Since the movie trailers were released last year, my family has been excited about “Man of Steel”–the Superman reboot that hits theaters Friday.

We’re all fans of superheroes, action films and summer blockbusters, and we all have our favorites.

My favorite is Batman. Other than that whole flying thing, he has always seemed more human than superhuman. He has a dark past, but not too dark. For me, he’s always been the right mix of man and hero.

Superman, on the other hand, has sometimes tested my patience. He’s the most conflicted of the major superheroes, but there’s much I appreciate about him: his resilience, restraint and ability to look amazing at 75.

My kids appreciate the guy in the cape who saves mankind.

But apparently they don’t appreciate him as much as Nana.

Until a few days ago, three kids were begging us to see Superman this weekend.

Upon learning Nana and Pappy would be in town, they immediately changed their minds.

I can understand, as Nana has her own set of powers.

For example, like the first superhero, she also has an ability to see and hear everything. She defies gravity when in pursuit of her morning coffee. And I’ve always believed she’s from another planet.

Now, she apparently has the power to erase a year-long desire of my children.

When asked how it feels to play an icon, British actor Henry Cavill has repeatedly said to interviewers that you can’t play an icon.

The star of “Man of Steel” has said he’s playing a character, not an icon.

The icon is untouchable.

And, in our house, that icon is apparently Nana.

So my husband and I will just have to find a way to enjoy a movie alone.

I should’ve known by the way he wraps gifts that my husband would struggle with the art of swaddling.

It’s easy to spot gifts from Larry because the packages are always covered in excessive paper and secured with very little tape.

He admits gift wrapping is not his thing, and I get that.

Yet I still somehow trusted him with swaddling–a method of securely wrapping a baby in a cloth or blanket.

This link on the Aden + Anais website explains it better than I could: http://www.adenandanais.com/learn/howtoswaddle.aspx

When properly swaddled, my babies have typically slept well. I’ve always thought it was because the secure wrap mimicked certain conditions in the womb.

None of my children loved being swaddled more than our son, Ty. He was delivered via emergency c-section, and many of his first days were spent swaddled in my arms. That closeness helped both of us heal a lot faster.

As I was stepping out of the shower one day, I noticed my husband attempting to swaddle him on my hospital bed.

“So, after you wrap one side, what do you do? Just roll him?” he said facetiously. (Or at least I hope he said it facetiously.)

“Um, no, he’s not a nut roll,” I said.

I demonstrated the swaddle the way a wonderful nurse had taught me, and Larry eventually became a pro.

As we excitedly await our fourth child, who is due in August, we’ve started to practice swaddling. Turns out, it’s not like riding a bike. I’ve forgotten a lot since we swaddled our last baby, who is now an ornery 4 year old.

I’ll confess I had to look on the Aden + Anais website for a quick refresher.

And, now, I can’t wait to hold our youngest daughter.

Larry, the kids and I spent part of Sunday shopping on the Aden + Anais website for what have become my favorite swaddling blankets.

While some excellent Aden + Anais styles are sold at Target and other retailers, I’ve only been able to find the bamboo muslin collection on the company website.

These swaddling blankets can be found among the bamboo muslin collection on the Aden + Anais website at www.adenandanais.com.

I was intrigued by bamboo muslin after I heard a lot of women in town rave about the bamboo collection of clothing at Kimman’s in York City. I’m told wearing bamboo feels like wearing pajamas–even when you’re not.

I’m still in pursuit of bamboo-made maternity wear, but I’m so happy to find bamboo swaddling blankets for my baby girl.

I promise you I intend to spend many days doing little more than holding her in my arms.

Since my family moved from Pittsburgh last year, there are many things we have grown to love about York County: the better weather, the proximity to big cities, the gorgeous views, the good people and the many options to pick-your-own anything.

The Pittsburgh area also has its share of places to pick pumpkins and strawberries, and we enjoyed our 35-minute drives to Trax Farms to do so.

When choosing our new home in York, I was thrilled to move near Brown’s Orchards & Farm Market. Throughout the last year, we’ve gone there for pumpkins, berries and apples.

Last week, my sons and I went there to pick strawberries while my husband and daughter practiced softball. (They’ll be joining us on our next trip to pick strawberries.)

Before coming upon the low rows of strawberries, we smelled them. The sweet, unmistakable smell of the red, ripe berries married with the early-morning humidity.

Ty was very happy with the strawberries we picked.

Seeing Ty and Dimitri run toward the fields with excitement gave me such joy. And Dimitri, who loves to shake hands these days, greeted the fellow pickers around us.

Many folks in the fields that morning had bigger plans for the berries than we did. They were making pies and dishes far more advanced than my cooking talents.

We used some in pancakes, but we mostly enjoyed them as snacks–free of any other ingredients.

Ty asked me to carry the cardboard box, in which we stored our berries, while he and Dimitri inspected plants for the best fruit.

“Mom, if they’re still white, it means they’re not ready,” Ty said.

I loved the way he paid attention to each berry, searching for the good picks.

Dimitri seemed to approach it as a race; he wanted to see how many berries he could pick in the shortest amount of time.

It was so nice to be in the fields with my boys, working as a team and continuing one of our favorite family traditions.

Once our box was full, we took it to be weighed and pay for what we picked. It was an opportunity to teach the boys about money, and they helped me count out what we owed.

During our drive home, Ty was so happy to hold the berries, feeling proud of our work.

And, as I quickly realized, Dimitri learned something also.

“It’s OK to pick strawberries, but it’s not OK to pick your nose,” he said.

Sometimes the Major League Baseball season seems too long–especially if you’ve been a lifelong Pittsburgh Pirates fan.

And sometimes the imbalance of team payrolls can make it seem like an unfair game.

But every spring there’s hope, and baseball is still one of the best ways to spend a summer, even if your team isn’t playing in the fall.

From the time I watched my first game on TV with Pap, I was sure stadiums were cathedrals.

Pap wasn’t an armchair coach. During most of the game, he was content to watch and eat his Cheez-Its. But occasionally, after a strike, he’d say, “See, he took his eye off the ball.”

He was my hero, and anything he said or liked was fine by me–which is probably how I also became well versed in boxing and “Sanford and Son” before I was 10.

I still remember the diner booth I was sitting in when I told him, during a gourmet meal of chicken nuggets and fries, that we were going to see every baseball stadium in America.

He died a year later, consumed by stomach cancer, but not before instilling in me a love for the columns of Mike Royko about his beloved Chicago Cubs or making me promise I’d see every ballpark.

I’ve not yet been to every ballpark, but I’ve been to many: Cinergy Field, Comerica Park, Fenway Park, Nationals Park, PNC Park (and before that, Three Rivers Stadium), Rogers Centre, Shea Stadium, Veterans Stadium and Wrigley Field.

And this year I’ll finally make it to Camden Yards.

I’m also making rounds at several amateur fields in York County this year.

My 6-year-old son, Ty, and 4-year-old son, Dimitri, played t-ball this spring, and my daughter is in the middle of her 10U softball season.

Cienna, who will be 10 this fall, was about 4 years old the last time she picked up a bat and ball, so I wasn’t sure how she’d fare this year.

Cienna is ready to play and chasing her first hit.

We quickly learned she’s better on defense.

Though she’s hit plenty of balls during practice, she has struggled during games. She’s quite good at seeing the bad pitches, but she fails to connect with the strikes. In fact, during the first few games, she wouldn’t swing at all.

“I’m afraid of missing them,” she said.

I explained she was getting called out either way and shared the words of baseball legend Babe Ruth: “Never let the fear of striking out get in your way.”

Sure, Ruth had 2, 873 hits, and Cienna’s just trying to get one, but the principle applies just the same.

As with anything in life, you can go to the plate and not swing, avoiding the disappointment of trying and failing. But you fail nonetheless.

Or you can go to the plate and take your best shot. You might fail, but at least you tried.

There’s still a lot of season left, and I’m sure before it’s over Cienna will get a hit.

Either way, it’s been a great learning experience for a kid who is used to doing well in everything. Struggling with something has helped her mature and learn how to press on in difficult situations.

It’s easy to have confidence when you’re good at something, but it takes a lot more courage to try when you doubt yourself.

When this season ends, I know Cienna’s tenacity will have won. Spend one minute in my home and you’ll know nothing motivates her more than a challenge.

Watching her swing and be off by a millisecond, I hear Pap’s words and wonder if she took her eye off the ball.

But I know she’ll get that hit.

I just wish he was here to see it.

The Woodall kids are some of my favorite comedians.

The following conservations–which Facebook kindly preserved for me during the last six weeks–are good examples of why they have me laughing several times a day.

(This one proves I’m one of those people who cleans more thoroughly when I know we’re getting company)
Cienna: Nana and Pappy are visiting this weekend. You know what that means.
Ty: What? We get toys?
Cienna: It means Mom is going to make us clean underneath all the couches.

(This one proves Ty thinks school breaks extend to chores at home)
Larry: It’s time to clean the playroom, guys.
Ty: But, Dad, we’re on winter break until Tuesday.

(This one proves some kid-friendly restaurants pick interesting background music)
Cienna: So did this guy write this song before or after he had one bourbon, one scotch and one beer?

(This one proves Dimitri frequently tries to make his own rules)
Me: Dimitri, did you just pee in the (bathroom) garbage can?
Dimitri: Yes my did.
Me: Why?
Dimitri: Boys pee everywhere.

(This one proves I have frequently exposed my daughter to the Rolling Stones)
Dimitri: Can I have the iPad now?
Me: It’s not your turn right now. It’s your sister’s turn.
Dimitri: But my said please.
Me: Yes, you did, and that was nice. But it’s Cienna’s turn now.
Ty: You can’t always get what you want, Dim.
Cienna: But you get what you need.