That time of year


Thursday afternoon a wave of fatigue came over me that could not be reversed by a cat nap.  The realities of trying to keep up with work, my boy-filled, chaotic home, marathon training, volunteer track coaching and dog parenting finally got me.  (Dog parenting is the most demanding of all, of course.)

I felt weepy, overwhelmed, and a bit like a vice was gripped around my head at my temples.  But onward I went, hoping that a solid night of sleep over the weekend would finally make me feel more stable. 


So after a decent night of sleep on Saturday, Sunday morning MFP and I decided that a nice, hilly run would be perfect to revive my multi-tasking spirit. Without the dog.  Charles didn’t like that idea, so he simply inserted himself either right beside me, or he blocked my way to the door.  Come hell or high water, that dog was going RUNNING. 

Is there an instruction manual for the strong-willed dog?

MFP’s like, “Alright dude.  You are even more obsessed with running than she is.  You win.  Get in the freaking car…”


We had a fabulous jaunt through the hills, as I can usually tell it’s been a good one if there is something stuck in my shoe that I don’t notice until after I get home.


I promptly inhaled a few plates of greens and carbs, after which I felt ready to tackle the mounds of laundry and piles of papers that generally inspire me to sit in the floor cross-legged and simply weep. 

Indeed the boys came to my rescue and we all pitched in to take on the last hours of the weekend, the first half of which I spent in a daze.


Middle even took over some of the cooking duties, making a lovely batch of chocolate chip cookies for an Oscar-watching party we attended last night.   

“I made an ingredients card in case anyone has allergies,” he noted. 

This is what is has come to, people.  Ingredients cards for a plate of cookies.

Seriously, the household hosting the party is all vegetarian, so we were shocked when they served meat last night in the form of a trays of sub sandwiches from Whole Foods. 


When they insisted that we take home the uneaten sandwiches, I was all, “Okay then!”  Translation:  I won’t have to make pack lunches in the morning.  One thing off of my list!

Which means that I can spend some more time catching up on dog parenting, something that falls by the wayside during the marathon-training/track season.


I hope that, during my research, I can find some information on what it means when your dog tries to wear your husband’s slippers.  (It seems a bit Freudian to me.)

I guess I’ll soon find out.

After I run.


  1. says

    Parties that give out food to take home are the best. The past two Thanksgivings we have been invited to homes that ended up giving the guests tupperware full of leftovers on the way out. I was ridiculously thrilled!

    Your puppers is so cute! Our dog used to run 3-4 miles with me and now he just looks at me like I’m crazy. He still loves walks though :)


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