It’s been week of confusion, mishaps, and missed connections.
On Tuesday I showed up for birthday party that wasn’t until Wednesday. That afternoon, I was moments too late for my scheduled haircut (despite actually being 13 minutes early) and had to reschedule for next month. And then, after having waited nearly 20 minutes for a bus, one arrived but was too full for me, my children, and our stroller, so we waited another 7 or so minutes for a slightly less full one. I won’t go into the details of the near-accident we had while waiting for the bus, except to say that we settled for a middle ground between “making it” and “having an accident.” I wanted to rip my hair out, but didn’t, because then I wouldn’t be able to get it cut next month.
Wednesday on our morning run, after we had parted ways with Micah and reached the top of the hill, I saw my friend Christy running ahead of me. I called out to her so we could run together for a bit, even though I knew I would miss my exit and we’d be late for Manchild 1’s school. She wheeled around and I caught up and . . . were my contacts being funny? She didn’t look like Christy . . . but she’d answered to Christy . . . and she looked so familiar. Turns out it was Christine. Whom I had never met before, and who was just as confused as I was because I looked familiar to her but she couldn’t place me. We wished each other well and I ran off, only slightly embarrassed at the mishap.
I was still chuckling over that situation while waiting for a light to change when another girl, also a runner, asked me if I liked them. I didn’t know what “them” was, but I assumed she was referring to either my shoes or my boys. And I do like them. All of them. But before I could answer, or ask what she was talking about, she saw a break in traffic and booked it across the street. I waited for the light to change and never caught up to her. I’ll never know what she was talking about. She’ll never know if I like “them.”
And, on Monday night I had the urge to start calling Manchild 2 “Squishy” and I can’t shake it. I’ve been calling him Squishy all week now. Or Squish. Or Little Squish. Or Little Squishy. I don’t know why. This has never happened to me before and I find it somewhat strange. But I’m going to run with it. As in, from now on Manchild 2 will be referred to on this blog as “Squish” or one of its permutations. Manchild 1 will henceforward be “Manchild.” I apologize for any confusion.
I hope your weekend is full of clarity and precision.