With one foot out the threshold, the night air rushed in. A step away from closing the door behind me before heading to the car, Evelyn shouted her concern, “We forgot to hug and kiss Dad!” She darted back inside. Considering we’d be gone for only 20 minutes, a final curtain call seemed, well, a little extra. “You’ll love it!” she encouraged from around the corner, thawing my hesitation. I found myself in Dave’s arms, embraced for a long, snuggled hug, followed by an equally long and intimate kiss.
And she was right. I did love it.
A Pomodoro timer did the trick: twenty-five minutes of progress notes followed by five minutes of watching Survivor and playing my Total Battle app. Then twenty-five more minutes of scheduling clients on Headway and sending them reminders, followed by clothes folding, and another five minutes of Survivor. And so it continued, until now, where I’m looking around, nodding in a “Whoop, whoop. Oh yeah, I did that” sense of accomplishment dance.
Evelyn played the “I’m hungry” card at bedtime tonight. If you’ve had, have, or will have a kid like mine, you know their procrastination game is next level. In anticipation, we do a pub-like last call. However, with Dave’s head in a video game, mine on this post, and Evelyn watching an episode of “Super Kitties,” 8 p.m. came sooner than expected. Dave and I take full responsibility for the lapse in parenting. So she’s now sitting at the island with a fig Newton-like bar, a fruit cup, and is telling her infamous knock-knock joke. Wanna hear it?
Why did the chicken cross the road?
To get to your house.
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Chicken.
If you haven’t gotten it, you will.
Even with it being 69 degrees in our house, I’m cold. A Presto heater sits 18 inches from me, its red light aglow, and the left side of my body is loving the sauna-like effects.
Looking to my right, rectangular and square-shaped presents are piled up. The double-sided wrapping paper, an accidental buy with each side different, was a happy accident. Instead of three rolls, I kind of have six. Also, ever since Dave showed me a tutorial on wrapping—making lots of origami-like folds—my presents look fancy. I blame my inexperience on not having my mom’s guidance early on, but also, I may have had a block. Like I do with a cartwheel. Never, please never, ask me to do a cartwheel for you.
Which is really, really frustrating. In all the sports I did, and the coordinated yoga and pilates I’ve done, when my friends worked with me on pushing off of my hand with my head under me, just above the ground before swinging my feet over, everyone couldn’t help laughing. I tried, really I did. And in all those, dare I say, a thousand (probably more) times I tried, I never got close. Sure, they’d say, “You’re so close,” but never a “That’s it!” Will that be my New Year’s resolution for 2024? We shall see.
Nighty night. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 