toast

 

First of all…I’m back.  I was in Chicago taking care of a toddler whilst her mother (my cousin) was on a business trip.

Well. That. Was. Exhausting.

My friends warned me, but I thought, oh I can do this, I raised my own children didn’t I? Ahem. Within minutes of my cousin’s departure I was drawn back to the days of not being able to think a complete thought, to finish a cup of tea or read the newspaper. And: Not just a toddler, but a “missing her mother toddler.” Use your imagination.

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Mine does.

I recall my father saying to me when he was in his 70’s and 80’s: “My skeleton hurts.” I let it slide by, not understanding, not caring to understand.  That’s the arrogance and breeziness of youth.

Now I understand.  My skeleton hurts.  I guess I inherited it from him.

So, in addition to this being the year of living passionately, this is also the year of the bod.  My bod.

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