Tales from Our New WFH/LFH Reality…
A short while ago, the kids finished their schoolwork and were out front shooting hoops with one another. Yay for mom squeezing in some P.E. time, right? What was I worried about? We’re kinda crushing this new homeschooling gig! Yea, no. Don’t get too excited.
After about 15 minutes of playing, they opened the door to come back inside because Grace caught a ball with her face. Ever the opportunist, our younger dog knocked them aside and darted out the front door. (Yea, that’s him in the pic above. Looks cute and innocent. Is actually cute. Is not innocent by any definition.) Gavin yelled, “Oh, crap!” and took off behind him. Grace – already in hysterics from her failed catch came darting into the room where I was working with both hands pressed against her cheeks, screaming that they needed help. Interesting strategy because, well, I have a bum knee, and that aside, I’m not quite known as The Flash. So, I did the 44-year-old woman version of running out the front door and helped them chase the dog – who, by the way, looked like he won the dog jackpot: sunshine, fresh air, galloping around untethered while his people seemingly played with him, ears flapping in the breeze. I swear he was laughing. (And maybe even a little harder when he saw they brought me out, not Kenny.)
As Grace cried and ran, and Gavin giggled and ran, and I jogged (?) and called his name, this dog dodged, ducked, dipped, dove, and dodged around each and every one of us, ramping up speed and running farther with each elusive passing triumph. Patches O’Houlihan would have been super proud of him. Super proud.
I, however, was not – about five minutes of what felt like pure insanity in: Sweet baby J. No. I’m out. I went back inside, screamed for Kenny, who was on a conference call, and we both ran back outside to see Gavin rounding the corner with the dog.
We’re gonna crush this shit.