My father and I have this thing where, most afternoons, we call each other and see how the day went. The conversation is predictable: An ‘A’ day, not an ‘A’ day, or even worse – “a Day”.
Today was a Day.
- My fat pants didn’t fit. I’ve been reduced to pants and skirts with drawstrings and stretchy waistbands.
- I teach seniors who have three official school days left.
- I had to grocery shop after 5 p.m. without Colby (he is THE best grocery shopping companion of all time).
- Two important decisions need to be made pronto. I can tell nearly anyone exactly what I think they should do. I tell them to take care of themselves, to make a list, to prioritize, to think. For me to do these things, well, a totally different story.
My two decisions may directly address the problem of ill fitting pants, though. I need to decide whether or not I’m going to sign up for this triathlon (I’ve been dreaming about it all year) AND if I am going to apply to yoga teacher training (which I’ve wanted to do since I was 10 and saw an article on yoga in my mother’s Redbook).
Both decisions have financial implications for my family. Both events will *hopefully benefit me, my health and my sanity.
This evening will find me grading, folding laundry, taking a creative look at our budget, and making up my mind.