As if it wasn’t painful enough checking my son’s Fifth Grade math homework…

I had to suffer through the following story problem…

Okay, so the answer is that Wildflower Trail will be just under 6 miles long.  All well and good, right?  Wrong.  Let’s stop to consider a few things…

1. Why can’t the trail be extended another sixteenth of a mile to make it an even 6 miles?  No one is going to like the fact that the trail falls just short.  Bad planning.  By the way, is this section of the plan referenced in the comprehensive or park plans?
2. The trail will extend off the map, which means that it is likely to travel behind existing homes, which means that the five year time frame is going to be delayed due to multiple public meetings.  I’m thinking seven years at best for trail construction, likely ten years, and never ever at worst.
3. Is there funding secure in a capital plan?  Is this dependent upon grant funding?  Is this portion of the tax levy dedicated to parks?  What kind of surface are we considering for the trail?  That is going to have a huge impact on cost.  So many unanswered funding questions.

Who knew that Fifth Grade math could be so nuanced?  At least, question number 27 deals with the world’s smallest gecko and that sounds interesting.  Go figure.

That moment when you give your children a Periodic Table of Elements and see the pure joy on their faces.

You may not understand it, but I know that seeing them happy is worth its weight in Au.

It says a lot about you, when you are walking through the grocery store and you get excited, I mean really excited, to see baby spinach.  Then you get even more pumped up to see that baby kale is located on the next shelf.

You regain your composure and feel sort of silly for your thoughts, then you consider how perfect they will be in tomorrow morning’s protein packed breakfast fruit smoothie.  That makes you feel better.  Silly, but better.

Better to be happy about a future smoothie, than sad without it in your life.  That’s the power of baby spinach (and its neighbor, baby kale).  Wee, but mighty.

Out of things to write about, I confidently drove home.  Confident because surely my kids would say or do something worthy of a blog post.

Walking into After School Care, I saw one of the teachers, who would summon my 2nd Grader Ben and 4th Grader Sam from the gym.  Giving me a smile, she also informed me that earlier today, “Ben and Sam were smelling each other’s armpits.”

Gross, but good material.  Oh, I am blessed.  Blessed with blog material in abundance.

Better than a sixth place finish.

Better than a 7:31 mile.

Better than a powerful sprint to the finish line.

Hearing your son say, “I’m really proud of myself.” Pride, that’s a feeling that you never want to outrun.

Words that you never want to hear from the backseat.

“Dad, I got my finger stuck in a pop can.”

Sorry my little Sprite, no solutions are bubbling into my mind.

Hum, I guess I’ll have a fork.

You know it’s Spring, when testing the Weather Siren sets off the Beagle Alert System.

The other day, when I dropped my 13-year-old son off for baseball practice, I noticed something.  As he jogged over to join his teammates, he smiled.  Happy to see his friends.  Happy to be a kid.  Happy to be part of the team.  Happy, a good thing.  Happy as a teen, a great thing for a parent.

This evening, picking up my teenager from confirmation class, he was in good spirits.  He did not even change the radio station as soon as he got in the car.  A pleasant development.

The radio station then did something playful, something unexpected, it began playing “Daydream Believer” by the Monkeys.  I delighted in this unexpected treat.  “Cheer up, sleepy Jean…” Then it struck me, my teen had been happy.  Sorry Monkeys, but you see, my teen is happy and that’s a moment to treasure.

I changed the station.  It was worth it to gain a few more smiling minutes, because you never know.  Tomorrow morning, I may need to cheer up a sleepy teen.  Certainly, that was something that the Monkeys would understand.

I dragged my sorry butt to the gym.  Yes, I did.

Accidently locked myself out of my locker.  Yes, I did.

Started out slow and wondered if I had it in me.  Yes, I did.

Kicked up the pace.  Yes, I did.

Saw the end in sight.  Yes, I did.

Gave it all I had.  Yes, I did.

Worked it so hard that sweat dripped off the tip of my nose.  Yes, I did.

Took that workout across the goal line and spiked it in the end zone.  Yes, I did.

I did it and I have the sweat dripping off my nose as proof.  Yes, yes, I do.

Drip.  Drip.