Good evening all!
You know, the kids are all but moved out (well, okay, Skippy may never move, but other than grunting at me on his way to work and grunting at me on his way back from work, I don't see him much) and hubby and I are getting older.
|Peaches and Skippy|
|Peaches and her fiancee, Junior|
Anyway, without the kids needing stuff from us, we have this huge gap in our lives. I mean, when you dedicate your life to raising children, you go all in, right? Every ounce of energy, every dime you have goes to them. You drive car pool, you buy shoes, you keep cheese pizza in the freezer because you never know when an army of kids are going to camp out on your couch and they'll need cheese pizza. You sweat, you pray, you do everything you possibly can to get them on the right path. You live through tattoos, piercings, broken hearts, calls from teachers, school trips, sports injuries, and drama with friends. You endure slammed doors, loud music, filthy bathrooms, demands for pets, clothing, rides, money. (Oh yes, you parents of toddlers, you parents of junior high kids, it gets much, much, much worse...LOL) And you know what? Deep down in a place you probably don't even realize is there, you love it. You say things like, "I can't wait until there's peace and quiet in this house!" But you know you don't mean it.
Now since Hubby and I aren't in the "grandparent" space yet...and won't be for a while...a long while...we have to find ways to amuse ourselves. Which is what brings me to the events of last night.
As you all know, I have a fit bit and that thing demands to be walked every darn day. And I have to do 12000 steps instead of the normal 10K because it takes me that many steps to get to five miles, the daily recommended amount of steps. (Because I'm a dainty, dainty princess who takes tiny steps.)
By the time Hubby gets home in the late afternoon, we both realize we're woefully short of our steps goal, and there's become a go to cure for that: Walking to Starbucks!
Our closest Starbucks is 1.2 miles from our front door. It's a pleasant 25 minute walk over undulating sidewalks. The route there never varies: Out the front door, turn right, up the hill, walk the main road to 'Bucks.
Then we sit and I have an unsweetened iced tea, because I'm not going to load up on calories after I've walked. That' makes the walk pointless. Besides, when I'm hobbling into 'Bucks I'm sweaty and I tend to chug my tea. I've tried chugging a frappucino. It gives me an ice cream headache.
Hubby likes what is called a "Pink Drink." It's not bad. I like the strawberries. But come on...a pink drink? I have pink hair and
I'm thinking, "this might be too much pink."
Anyway, once we've finished our beverages, it's time to walk back and that's when we have several choices about our route. Although, if I'm being honest, we typically go one route back.
Last night, however, we had the usual discussion about the route back and Hubby said, "Washington?" indicating the street we normally take back. I said, "I suppose."
"Well," says he, "We could get weird."
"Oh sure, let's get weird," says I, feeling remarkably not crippled. My right foot usually craps out on out me on the trip to 'Bucks.
"Okay. Let's get weird."
Then he leads me on the "weird route."
We cut through the hedge. We cut through a parking lot. We walked up a flight of stairs. We walked down a slight hill. And then we got onto Washington.
I know. Mind blowing.
I'm sure the kids are reading this and, since they are all out of state right now, they are calling each other wondering if we're going to be okay, given this streak of crazy wildness we've just exhibited.
Oh, but wait, I'm not done. After our walk back we sat down and watched the Tour de France coverage, but NOT the usual prime time coverage we usually watch, no. I taped the live MORNING coverage and we watched that instead.
Look out people, once the weird starts, it may never stop!