So I woke up yesterday and the doggo had shat all over the bedroom. He is ten. He knows better. But he also knows better than to sneak out of the house when I’m not looking, which he did the day prior, and go wandering ’round the neighbourhood, eating who knows what off the street for a good solid day.
But then he sits there, with his off-kilter sit and looks at me like, “Heeeyyyy, it’s no big deal..” and I dutifully pick up his poop and leave him be. He’s fine now. I am too, minus the small heart attack sustained when I realized he wasn’t in the house and a neighbour called to say she’d found him. I’m just glad a cougar didn’t find him first.
Robbed, because that same day my dog went for an adventure, my bike ride was cancelled because school was cut short for the kiddos. “Professional development day”, whatever that means, so they only go to school for three hours and then I have to figure out what to do with them. We went for a chilled out bike ride through some blue trails, because you’d better believe I’m gonna be all salty about missing a grown-up ride on a sunny day. There were only two rounds of tears. And snacks whilst sitting on a curb in a parking lot later, because tables and chairs are overrated.
Then this morning, I’m all ready to head out for a ride when I hear a dreaded cough come from the kids’ bedroom. First one, then the other. Just a cough or two each. They wander in to my room, and my son looks sad. My daughter bursts into tears, because she wanted to wear a dress to school today but, “I don’t want to get my friends sick!!” I call the school to say they won’t be coming, cancel my ride, and book them both covid tests. SIGH. Robbed again.
We do some research on Neptune, and there is a debate about how Uranus should be pronounced (and why one way is funnier than the other), and we do some math worksheets.
We head to the lake near our house and kill some time in solitude.
It is here that I realize I haven’t heard a cough since waking this morning. And there is an awful lot of energy being expended on climbing rocks and throwing them as far as we can.
“Are you guys feeling normal?”
“Yeah. I feel fine, mom.”
I look at the guidelines for testing, and without any further symptoms, I cancel their tests.
I get word that the local pumptracks are dry and ready to ride.
We are going biking dammit.
So I load up the bikes, rushing to get there before the school day ends so we’ll have the track to ourselves. It is indeed running pretty mint. And the new dirt jumper?
HO. LEE. COW.
It feels so good! So easy to maneuver, so light, so frickin’ sweet. I cannot wait for the progression that will hopefully come this summer. I am going to clean that snake line this year and learn a trick, so help me God. I legitimately feel like I’m riding better because of this bike.
We head to another track in the shade of the trees, and the kids get bored, and suddenly, it becomes a game of me chasing them all over the track on my bike while they run around like ants in a tsunami movie. It is, unexpectedly, insanely fun. And I’m getting a good workout and some solid pumptrack practice in.
Bonus? All the dirt jump folks I haven’t seen since last summer are bumming around, because I guess we all don’t work at 1 pm on a Friday afternoon. It is a lovely spontaneous gathering of faces I haven’t seen in a season. One guy rides a lap, chats with everyone for a long while, then rides off to work. Another decides to get into a discussion with my children about Schroedinger’s cat.
“Is it cool if we talk about death? Like dead cats?”
Yah. They’re cool. We had a discussion about suicide this morning.
“Oh. Heavy. Okay, so dead cats in a box are cool?
Yup. We’re good.
He explains the concept. Another guy drops by. “THE CAT IS DEAD! You don’t need to open the box!”
Mom? What’s that guy’s name, really? It’s not Nick Fury.
No kiddo, it’s not. It’s not Peter Parker like he told you, either.
But what if he really has been lying to you about his name for the last five years?
He hasn’t. I know his name. Don’t worry.
We go the library post-pumptrack and the kids pick out some books. I choose My Side of the Mountain for them, because there are some actual useful survival skills in there, and I remember loving it as a kid. My son picks out a book called Rebel Genius, which seems way too dark for a six-year old, but I read the back to him and he’s in to it. My daughter picks a few other books about kids who go to magic school.
We get home and I start reading Rebel Genius to them. They’re slack-jawed and absorbed. Before I know it, four hours have passed. This book is good. Sometimes I feel like I missed my calling as an audiobook reader. I really enjoy it. Only now, we’re halfway through and there are these creatures that are locked in a castle cellar that the former dead “artist” had created with eyeballs on their elbows, and my son is going to have nightmares because even I was getting palpitations reading it.
I’m snuggling him as I try to get him to sleep, and he says to me,
“Mama? Today was an amazing day.”
That’s it. I’m done.
All is right in the world.
Some days, I win. 🙂