Tennis Ball

I was late for work every day this week.

With my bike on the fritz and the icy roads making it tricky to push a stroller I decided to try an experiment: What if Skye and I just walked to school in the morning? (NOTE: Skye goes to daycare every day, but it's called Lit'l Scholars, so we refer to it as "school")

It turns out that 2-year-olds are really slow walkers. I think it's a combination of the tiny legs and the short attention span. Our path was never a straight brisk walk, but rather more of a meandering stroll.

I stressed a bit knowing I'd have to work through lunch to get everything done at the office and I envied my little daughter with no agenda or schedule to keep.

We made tracks in the snow, and compared the size of our shoe prints. We learned what kind of tracks dogs make and to stay away from the yellow snow. We stopped to stare at birds, clouds, airplanes, and mountains. We counted trees. We practiced our colors and the ABC's. We sang songs. We took time to pet some dogs and to scare away some cats. We talked about cars and trucks and buses and bikes. We enjoyed the smell of coffee and bacon. We huddled together to try and keep warm. We laughed.

On Friday Skye found an old chewed-up tennis ball about 2 minutes into our walk and decided it would be fun to kick it along the sidewalk...the entire way. I joined in.

I was REALLY late for work on Friday...and I didn't care.

I've got something in my eye

My uncle Kim used to love to tell a joke that went something like this:

At the end of her tear-filled emotional talk in church a woman apologized to the congregation for letting her emotions get the best of her and struggling to get through her words, "I'm sorry for being such a big boob."
In an attempt to lighten the mood the bishop quickly took the microphone with an admission, "That's okay Sister [Johnson], we like big boobs!"

As much as I like big boobs as well I don't find it endearing to use that term to describe my own state of emotions. However it appears that today maybe some of Breck's pregnancy hormones may have rubbed off on me as my mental state has run the gamut.

This morning I left the house anxious to get to the office after a 4-day weekend. An exciting project awaited me on my desk and I needed to get to work.

As I arrived at the office I immediately noticed that I had received some mail while I was gone; I knew right away what it was: my test score. I debated waiting to find out the results until the end of the day but knew that I'd never be able to focus with that envelope glaring up at me. I grabbed some coffee, sat down, took a deep breath, and opened the letter.

The bold-lettered word FAIL stared back at me.

Not only was this supposed to be my last test on the road to my license, it was also my second attempt. Following try #1 I wasn't surprised with the failed results. After try #2 however, my confidence was high.

In disbelief and denial I quicky shoved the letter back in the envelope and hid it away in my drawer. I turned on my headphones, put my head down, and got to work.

Hours later I knew I needed to get out of the office so I headed to lunch. On the 1/4 mile walk I must have looked like a crazy person as I muttered frustrations and obscenities to myself. How could I have failed the test again? I was sure this was it, this was the end of the road; the beginning of a new chapter in my career. Was McDonald's really the answer? I piled on another bad decision to my not-so-great morning and walked in.

Following my less-than-satisfying lunch I was leaving the restaurant when I noticed the interactions of a father with his young (3 or 4-year-old) daughter. My thoughts immediately turned to my own daughter at home. Once again I looked like a crazy pereson to the observer who witnessed my tears as I walked down the street.

Why was I crying at the mere sight of a father/daughter lunch outing?

It reminded me of my motivation to continue the daily grind toward my goal. It reminded me that my life is no longer my own.

It reminded me that despite the persona that I may try to fool people into believing about me, deep down I'm really just a big boob.