After five months of riotous slothdom, I’ve taken up running again. It’s glorious! It’s not that I so much enjoy getting slapped in the face with cold air immediately after waking, or the pounding on pavement, or the I’m-dying feeling as much as it is the Having Done It High I get from, uh, having done it. Running first thing in the morning means I start off the day feeling like I’ve slayed dragons, and before breakfast even. Plus, it makes lazying around the house for the rest of the day slightly more justifiable.
Yesterday when I got back from my run, my husband and two older kids were on their way out the door—my daughter on her way to the farm and my son to the job site with my husband. I told the kids to “hold it” because photo op.
Pictures snapped (what begrudging curmudgeons!), they helped my husband clean out his truck.
Well, kind of helped. If bickering and pulling down his pants is considered helping.
Then I took a selfie which prompted a lecture from my husband on the proper way to take a selfie—camera above face! chin down!—from the man who has never taken a selfie, ha.
It got blurry and sickly greenish (thanks to all that florescent), but that’s how I feel in the morning, so it’s fitting.
And then they were off, and I headed into a quiet house (since the younger two children were still sleeping, sweet bliss) to fix my coffee,