Aug
4
Man oh man, the days are busy lately. I get up and it’s a mad dash to get the kids ready for school, get myself ready for work, then gallop around the house making beds, wiping counters, hiding clutter, and generally trying to make the house presentable in the unlikely event of a showing. (We put the house on the market last week. We’ve received exactly one call since then, from an agent. I’m . . . a little discouraged.) I spend my day in the office, fight the usual crush of traffic to get home, and try to enjoy the hours before bedtime with the boys without succumbing to the siren call of the computer. As soon as they’re tucked in bed I’ve got freelance work to dive into, with ongoing breaks to make sure Dylan’s still dressed and hasn’t escaped out the top of his crib and plummeted to the floor.
It doesn’t leave much time for much of anything else, and after a few days in a row of not getting any exercise other than the sweaty cardio jam of stuffing Dylan back in his motherfucking pajamas each night, I decided to try jogging with the stroller.
I’ve long suspected that I would dislike this sort of activity and I wish I could tell you that it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be, but it was in fact worse. Admittedly we don’t have an actual jogging stroller so it’s possible things would be easier if we did, but it’s basically like taking everything that sucks about running and adding a few extra raised middle fingers. I hate not being able to swing both arms, I hate shoving the stroller up hills, I hate when I accidentally stub my toe on the back wheel. I feel like there must be some sort of technique would make the whole process smoother, but I’ve tried different things—running next to the stroller while holding it off to the side, pushing it a few feet in front of me so I can let go of the handle—and there’s really no escaping that what you’re doing is running while pushing a small person whose density exponentially increases every quarter mile.
There is something nice about having company, though, even if said company is loudly and continually yelling “Faster, Mommy! Go fast!” until I feel like a particularly beaten-down and unappreciated rickshaw driver. Also, it’s kind of amusing to note the curious and pitying glances of passersby, who seem to assume one or both of us is in dire need of a bathroom.
It’s not ideal but it currently fulfills the multitasking requirement I’m angling for, even more so if I can fit a destination into our little outing and pick up a prescription or whatever at the same time. I’m ready for life to dial back down to a more manageable level, though. I miss television, you know?
Tomorrow I leave for BlogHer and I’m so excited about seeing friends and meeting new people and generally getting the hell out of Dodge for a couple days. I’m even looking forward to that long-ass flight because it means I can just SIT and read BOOKS and not have to wipe anyone’s BUTTHOLE. (Hopefully.)
I hope I see you this weekend!
Aug
2
To my best friend in the whole world,
I’m sorry our weekend was so grueling and we had to cancel the babysitter and you had to wipe kid barf off the toilet. I’m sorry things are just so incredibly stressful right now and I’m sorry I haven’t worked harder to keep the peace between us. I’m sorry if it hasn’t been clear that I’m on your side through this entire process, that I want to move to Oregon because I believe in my heart it’s what you want to do and I want to make that happen for you and for us. I’m sorry if it’s ever seemed like I don’t support your business and your dreams because I do. I’m sorry if I don’t slow down enough and hug you and tell you how much I love you and how grateful I am to have this life with you. Because oh, I do, and I am.
I’m sorry I let Riley pick out your birthday wrapping and that your presents came in a giant Transformers bag. I’m sorry you’re 37 today because damn, Grandpa.
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