Now that’s a lotta kale.
So I’m two years into the grand experiment: Let’s run some marathons, eat some kale, and see if we can keep up with the five-year-olds.
So far, so good. I’ve trained smarter, and run more miles than ever. I’ve been eating stuff I never imagined I’d love so much, and regularly see good news on the scale, and on the mile splits.
The kids still wear me out, but breathing is easier, sleeping is easier, and most importantly, waking up is easier than it’s ever been. I don’t get up with the sun; I get up, run several miles, then watch the sun rise, thinking “What kept ya?”
This only happens once. In your lifetime.
Tonight both of you are going to bed after a warm bath, maybe some cookies and a story, and it will seem like just about any other evening. But this one is different; this night is your last one in a world of relative freedom and fun.
As soon as you step across the threshold into kindergarten, your life will change forever. And as the guy lucky enough to be your Daddy, I know I’m supposed to offer a few words of encouragement, maybe look up what Martha Stewart says to tell your kids on this occasion, and go with that.
But I can’t.
I am not a big fan of dog poop. There, I said it.
I’m sure that puts me squarely in the majority, at least I hope so. I hate seeing the leavings of our canine friends all over the sidewalks and playgrounds, even in those cute little blue bags.
Actually, those bags are just the beginning. It was the behavior of a dog owner I recently encountered at a local park that prompted me to write this.