Running, sweaty glasses and some bane

Yesterday I had the brilliant idea of suggesting my youngest ride his bike to school this morning. I’d follow along with one of the dogs and it would be a great bonding experience. That was yesterday.

It started with trying to throw together a lunch box, followed by a scavenger hunt for my sneakers, any matched pair would suffice. The only ones found are the ones that I used to mow the lawn and discover dog potty bombs. “Where are they?” My son is scurrying around to help “what do they look like again?”… obviously I need to rethink my exercise regime. We finally find them covered in dog… We raise the seat on the bike and he’s off with his friends. My mom friend comes biking up the hill “gotta sub today”, so I’m left with the dog and options. My choice? To run. Because it’s the obvious best choice to a seemingly exhausted mildly deranged mama of 4.

As I puff and chug like the little engine that could I begin to question my decision. Not even moving quickly. I’ve seen babies scoot faster than I’m moving. In the process my phone falls out of my pants because I have no pockets and then because a dog ate my glasses i search for a bit for it. But I finally run and make it to the traffic circle. I’m puffing for air like I’ve just raced to safety from a tidal wave or something. My friend hands me a paper. I cant even see the words the sweat is stinging my eyes so badly. I complete the permission slip for my child to ride his bike as required by our school system… CYA I suppose. And we are off again.

This hill… my friend stands on her bike to make it up. I attempt to run again. This time only because I’ve got to get this paper to my child. Over her shoulder I hear her say something about meeting at the corner. I finally make it to the corner. My chest wheezing like some accordion on it’s last legs. How can I be so out of shape? The dogs not even panting. So embarrassed I try to play it off. As I see my son coming down the hill from school. He had already made it to the top and came back down to find me. Once again I’m reminded this idea is not my best. We quickly say our goodbyes and I decide to walk home the back way.

After being a good neighbor and scooping my dog’s waste, I round the corner to see the biggest most muscular dog I have ever seen. Sitting next to a child. The dog comes lumbering down the hill to greet us. He’s friendly the sweet girl says. His neck is thicker than both my thighs together. I believe her but don’t want to risk my dog thinking he’s some BA. So we untwist the dogs, “good boy Bane” she says. Like bane of my existence? For some reason this frightens me more than the dog himself.

The best part? Picture this. My dog on a retractable leash. My phone in my hand because I have no pockets. I’m carrying a bag of dog feces. Not enough hands for everything happening. So, it’s no surprise when my glasses slide down by nose, my face cream pooling with the sweat to combine into stinging drops of pain into my eyes. I clean my face on my shirt and reach to push my glasses up on my face. Only to promptly hit myself in my mouth with the bag of poop.

They can’t all be good days. There’s always a highlight and a lowlight. I counter my mouth of dog grossness with a trip to the nail salon because sometimes, self care is the only way I keep my sanity.

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