You'd think by the title that I participated in marathons, triathalons or the like. On the contrary. I haven't upped my pace to a run in more days than I care to remember. Running to me is essentially, self-mutilation along the same lines as cutting or odd piercings and the like.
Nope, for me, the rescuing happens in my meager day-to-day.
- "Mommy, I need some choket mulk"
- "Are my work clothes washed"
- "Mrs. G, do you prefer colonial moulding or plain 1x4's with rosettes around the new bay window?".
Don't get me wrong, I never imagined life as a stay-at-home mom as one filled with bon-bons and the tv remote. But, I definitely never thought that my day would remain filled with so much stuff either.
Sure, there are days I don't shower or change out of my pajamas, ones I play a few too many games of Canasta on Yahoo, but most of the time I'm on the go or at least keeping busy. I've managed to embrace the fact that keeping the dishes rotating through the dishwasher and the socks out of the puppy's mouth now lands on my shoulders. I mean, who else will notice that we are out of mustard or that homework is due on Tuesday (while trying to also decipher why they even have homework in preschool).
It's mine, all mine. Here I am, more than a year after leaving my job, running to the rescue....