Limping to the finish

I remember this day, sitting in Ben's piano teacher's duplex. She lives alone with her two cats. I thought, "I could handle this."

And I'm not a cat person. At all. I suppose that says something about my state of mind on that particular day. Other days, I'll see a retired person and think longingly that I could really dig having all that freedom.

There are certain times when I just long for alone time. I guess when I start to wish I could trade places with a single person or sacrifice a couple decades of my life to join the over-60 set, it's time to take a little breather.

I had to do just that yesterday. Do you ever have one of those days when your kids just embarrass you?

When we were kids, we regularly visited my mom's side of the family in Chicago. My mom recalls the well-dressed women of Chicago and the twinge of embarrassment she felt encountering them on an elevator, my mom and dad with their motley crew of four disheveled children.

We went to church and then out to breakfast with Mark's parents, and I felt just like mom used to feel. Paul and Gus are badly in need of haircuts. Ben had bedhead, and he was wearing the frown that he seems to wear perpetually these days. All of the boys' pants are too short because it's the end of the season, but I'm too stubborn to buy new ones. They'll be in shorts soon, right? Right?!?!

The boys were okay at church, or as okay as we ever are. At breakfast, Gus was a little noisy and restless, but not too bad, not too far out of the norm. But back at Mark's parents', things took a turn for the worse.

The boys were loud and obnoxious. They had a clear case of spring fever. "Go play downstairs," I urged them, so the adults could visit for a little bit.

"Nah, we want to stay up here," they said.

I thought things had improved when they all started to play a game together, but that quickly devolved into them throwing the pieces at one another. And then that quickly devolved into my least favorite activity: grab-ass. That's when the boys just can't keep their hands off one another. This session of grab-ass ended with my boys just lying on top of one another. We cut the visit there. Time to go.

In the car, I was furious, embarrassed, and annoyed. It didn't feel like too much to ask. Just occupy yourselves for a little while.

At home, I was having a hard time shaking off my irritation. I wanted to take advantage of the warmer weather, go for an afternoon run. But it was hard to even make myself do that. I looked out the window as the wind blew. Awfully windy for a run, I whined to myself.

I decided to go anyway, I pounded the pavement for a few miles, no music, just trying to get some endorphins going, clear my thoughts and improve my mood. It worked. I felt better by the time I got home.

January through March is by far my least favorite time of year. It's fitting that my lousy day went down on a day late in March. I'm in the last mile of long race.

This has been a long, hard season. We've had setbacks big and small. The weather's been abysmal. Heck, we had zero-degree wind chills less than a week ago.

I know that when the calendar flips to April tomorrow, everything will just magically improve, a Wizard of Oz-like transformation.

Until then, though, I'll have to tough it out for one more day. This morning Paul, woke up at 4:30 and vomited, and despite his malaise, he and Gus are bickering. Here we go again. Is it tomorrow yet?