The school year for my boys ended last Thursday. And it was a half-day.
They spent that afternoon reveling in their new-found, hard-earned freedom. We took the crew to dinner at our favorite pizza place, stayed up late and let them sleep in the following morning.
Starting bright and early yesterday, though, their summer schedule kicked in.
The groans started Sunday night when I shoo’d them to bed at 9.
“Early morning practice!” I reminded as I closed their bedroom doors.
I repeated it when I shook them by the shoulder early the next morning.
As soon as they got back home, I poured cereal into bowls while I listened to them compare their times or minutes per mile. They ranged between 10min/mile for my youngest to 6min/mile for my older guys.
Huh. Interesting how a couple of years of running improves your time, I duly noted.
I do feel guilty, though. With them out of school, I no longer have to be up at the crack of dawn to rouse them, feed them and help with lunches. I can sleep in an entire hour longer than usual, if I so choose.
On a Monday morning, that’s heavenly.
But today’s Tuesday and I awoke to my own shoulder being shaken. Deep in a dream – something having to do with watching a sunset while lounging on a tropical beach – I was startled to see my husband sitting next to me dangling my walking shoes. Before I could launch a full-fledged whine, he was pulling the covers back and tossing a pair of socks in my direction.
With the promise of a homemade veggie omelet for breakfast, he managed to woo me into going for a walk. He knows food is my Achilles heel. And that I’m a pushover for egg whites smothered in spinach, onions, mushrooms and cheese.
I wonder if that would work for the boys. After all, we are all logging about the same amount of pre-breakfast miles. Just don’t ask me what my time was…