...and the friendly stranger hands me back my mind, which I have clearly lost.
Tragically, today at 11:54 a.m., my children reduced me to tears which I hid behind my sunglasses. The kids were not fighting nor were they doing anything wrong. They were only talking. Their sweet little voices were telling me stories. They were TALKING- something that I ENCOURAGED them to do. Something which they had both been doing incessantly since they climbed into my bed at 6:45 this morning... and since 6:15 the morning before that... and at 5:46 the morning before that. The past few weeks, between the constant talking, my trashed out house, the snot snorting from round two of colds since school started, the coat refusal, the effing laundry, the fruit fly infestation in my kitchen, the whining noises and begging for food from the dogs and children, the explosive noises of boys playing and Adele Arakawa's horrendous hair, every nerve in my body is fried.
Er... Adele? 1989 called, they want their hairstyle back.
So much hairspray, so little time.
Image from http://www.123people.com/s/adele+arakawa
Therefore, in a vain attempt to find my sanity in a world full of plastic toys (not mine), unfortunate pooping schedules for the diaper wearing individual in our family (not me, thankfully), constant yelling(me and others) and noise (every damn thing), wadded up sweat socks (not mine) on the living room rug or three steps from the motherloving hamper and the never ending cleaning/folding/sorting/wiping/helping/listening/responding/driving/selfless giving that is motherhood, I have again started walking in the mornings.
And I hate mornings.
Fortunately, I have a
Most of the time on these morning outings it is just me and Red Dog, whose walking off-and-on-leash obedience reminds me of why I actually love her. Together we increase our heart rates and burn off negative energy while enjoying the crisp morning air. With Pandora's Indie Dance Mix station in my ear and this awesome app called Map My Walk where I can... wait for it... map my walk while channelling my inner George Jefferson jive step. I can listen to Jack White and also keep track of pace and distance, which assists me in achieving a daily goal and knowing when to push myself, something that every Type A
But still! Even with Black Dog dragging at my arm, thus ensuring that I will soon have to shell out the big bucks and see my chiropractor, I see the bluest skies on the planet (because Colorado rocks a blue sky like no where else). It is also a time to think, reflect, plan and prepare myself for the coming events of my life as a
Even though there are many things to discover on these morning walks, I have yet to find my sanity. Be that as it may, I have found some much needed solitude. It is a great chance to connect with nature. I can listen to my body (it says "Ow, you decrepit thing") without having to drown out the noise of children fighting over the toy trash truck, or the phone ringing with yet another political call, or the demands of "I'm hungry!" "He hit me!" "I need a band aid!" "I want to watch Transformers!". And best of all, on my morning walks, I don't have to repeat myself (unless I take Black Dog, then I spend the time repeatedly yelling her name constantly). However, sometimes the morning reveals things that I do not expect to find. Things that are black as the night and full of wonder. Things that are so wrong, they are right. Things that are lacy, sexy and should not by lying in a gravel path between a port-a-potty and a sign about the length of fish. Things like bras.
"Um... excuse me ma'am. You seem to have dropped this."
... so there's another one of us, but instead of
early morning walks with the dogs, she is
getting back to nature with Victoria's Secret
and a midnight rendezvous at the port-a-potty.
Good on her?