Walk of Hell

So here's a glimpse of this evening's chaos at the Erichsen-Webster home.

First, I was banished to my bedroom. Why? The Cleveland Cavaliers were finally holding their own in Game #3 of the NBA finals against the "golden" team, the Golden State Warriors. Isaiah would like to see the mighty Labron James crush Golden State right into the ground, so he was feeling happy about how this game was progressing.

That is until I sat down to watch with him. Every time I started to watch, the Cavs would go downhill fast. Like seriously every, single, time. Isaiah decided it was all my fault, that I was some sort of curse, so he told me to go in my bedroom and not come out. Okay, fine. I had plenty of school work to do, and I really only like to watch basketball when my Jazz boys are playing.

At some point I glanced at my Fitbit to discover I had only 5,157 of my steps, barely over half of what I needed, and OCD people like me do not go to bed until they have their 10,000 daily steps. The grueling sun had made it too hot to walk earlier, but now at 9:30, dusk had cooled the temperature enough. I slipped past Isaiah, but not without seeing the score of the game; the Cavs were up by seven in the fourth quarter. Hopefully, they would win this thing before I returned.

As I rounded the first curve of my walk, Shulamith texted: "What's going on up there?!?" She had obviously heard Isaiah screaming at the TV. She turned on the game and kept me updated for the remainder of my walk...

...which had become a bit of a nightmare. The sun had set, but there was just enough light to expose those dang garden hoses. They were everywhere, lying in disconcerting patterns in the grass all over the place, a variety of different, disturbing colors. A couple of them even crossed the sidewalk where I was walking, and I had to step (well leap) over them! Ugh. It took every ounce of concentration to maintain my composure, and I didn't always, so I'm sure anyone watching out a window was baffled by this crazed woman screaming and jumping over things.

About that time, Shulamith texted that Golden State won in a nail-biter ending. Nooooo! The Cavs lost even without me watching. I'm not a curse. I'm not.

Finally, I made it to the final leg of my regular circle, the cottages, where there is a UGS system and NO DUMB HOSES. But just as I was beginning to relax, my Spotify radio station played Garth Brooks's "Mom," one of my favorite songs ever, but also one that always makes me cry, even when I haven't spent the last hour running from garden hoses.

It was all over. The tears flowed. "An angel, tender, tough, and strong," the lyrics go. I sure didn't feel very tough or very strong. I cried for my lack of strength and for how much I hurt when my kids hurt. And for how I wish I could shield them from every disappointment, from all danger and pain and injustice and mean people. What brought all this on? No idea.

Just then my Fitbit buzzed as I reached 10,000 steps. I was nearly home.

It was not the best walk.

That's okay.

For now, I will say my prayers and go to sleep, with the promise of a new day tomorrow. Even though it won't be any cooler, the forecast says Monday will  bring cool temps and glorious rain. And maybe by then, even a win for the Cavs.