Have you ever stood at a curb and considered the single step it would take to put yourself in front of the Staples Truck that is barreling past you?

No?

Me neither.

Except this morning. But obviously I didn’t do it.  And it wasn’t for the sadness and endingness of it all that I considered taking that step. It was for the novelty.

I am not a fun mom. I can be fun-ny, but physical humor and play have pretty much been out of my repertoire for as long as I can remember. Walking to the sundial park a few weeks ago Oliver skipped a block ahead and then doubled back to me, figuring out a way to integrate my plodding pace into his jubilant progress.

“You know mama,” he said slowly, carefully, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run.” This was patently unfair and I told him so. “Just last June I ran on the tennis court.” “Oh….right…” he responded nodding his blond head. “You weren’t so bad either.” He was off, racing his elongated loop down the street.

Seriously I had run this SEASON, how could he not remember?

Last night was game night and we were playing my second least despised game, the card game of golf. We were on hole 8 and I had no idea where I stood in the standings. Or sat, because I was cross legged under our vintage starburst brass and glass table. I felt the crumbs beneath my shins. I needed to clean the carpet. I would probably get to it. Likely even before I ran again.

I held up my ball jar of water.

“What would you guys do…if I just dumped this over my head?”

Steve looked up from the scorecard which he kept with the care of an engineer golfer and raised an eyebrow. Leo bounced out of his seat. Oliver hadn’t heard the question.

“What a funny thought” I thought to me, as I dumped the jar of water over me head. The water felt so cold running over my head, down my shirt and onto the crumby Turkish rug. As the boys shrieked with laughter and Steve transitioned from amused to bemused I wondered.

Would I still have to clean the carpet?

The following two tabs change content below.
Anna Rosenblum Palmer is a freelance writer based in Denver, CO. She writes about sex, parenting, cat pee, bi-polar disorder and the NFL; all things inextricably intertwined with her mental health. In her free time she teaches her boys creative swear words, seeks the last missing puzzle piece and thinks deeply about how she is not exercising. Her writing can be found on Babble, Parent.co, Great Moments in Parenting, Ravishly, Good Men Project, Sammiches and Psych Meds, Playpen, Crazy Good Parent, and YourTango. She also does a fair amount of navel gazing on her own blog at annarosenblumpalmer.com.

Latest posts by Anna Palmer (see all)