Up and Running . . .

Around. Nonstop. And getting nowhere.

So far, I am not off to a flying start with this so-called “blog thing” and am beginning to know why I managed to put it off the past 8 years. One of my biggest fears was to have the whole thing “crash and burn” but don’t they say that by facing (ie, realizing) your fears, you can conquer them? Maybe this is a self-fulfilling prophecy since every time I try to start writing, something comes up.

On Monday, just as I sat down to spend a little time, my phone rang. Seeing my son’s school calling on the screen, I instinctively knew that any random mid-day call was, likely, not a good thing.

Basis CropTurns out that after refusing to wear a coat all last week, my son was now “not feeling well” and needed to be picked up immediately.  What! He was totally fine this morning. “Can I speak with him, please?” To which the nurse reluctantly called him over to the speaker phone. “Honey, you know it’s not easy for mommy to come and get you. Are you sure you can’t just try to power-through?”.  At this, the nurse bee-lined back to the phone “You do, in fact, need to come get him. He’s running a temperature of 99.9 and it’s our policy . . .”

“Is that really considered a fever?” I thought to myself. “Mommy,” my son interrupted on speaker, his voice suddenly very strong, “last time you told me to power-through I got sick in the Art room, and it wasn’t pretty.” Cringing, now that the nurse has, likely, recalled the incident, I became defensive. “Yes, honey, but then you called during last period. It didn’t make any sense for me to come all the way there when the bus was leaving so soon.” I remembered attempting to convince the nurse, back then, how it would take me longer to get him then to just take the bus home; she, clearly not interested. Now, feeling slightly guilty, I mumbled that I would be there as soon as possible.

On the drive over, I wondered if I’d have another opportunity this week to get back to writing. Normally, we have a sitter come on Thursday afternoons so that I can steal some precious moments alone with my son, after school, and take him to one of his activities. As an only child for 7 years, his life turned upside down with the girls’ arrival. Thinking of him waiting in the nurses office for me, I suddenly softened. “I’ll find a little time on Thursday,” I thought. No big deal.

Until I heard from my sitter.

text crop

Maybe this thing will write itself?

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