Rollergirl

It’s Memorial Day, and I should be writing something profound about our country.  I’m not.  Instead I’m dealing with a husband who has messed up his back rollerblading but refuses to admit it, and a step-daughter who just wants to get back out there and rollerblade again.  K spent the night with us and it was very nice.  We went to a picnic at my mother’s house where her father taught her to rollerblade.  It was adorable watching them work together in the driveway before dinner, as K took her first little strides in her skates.  After dinner, however, Mark went and got his own.  It should be noted that he hasn’t skated in years.  They made their way down to the park, and at some point, Hubs went ass over tea kettle.  Now K just wants to go skate with her dad some more, but that doesn’t seem like a possibility.  I’m pretty sure he bruised a rib, though he’s not that inclined to go to the doctor.  Instead he takes ibuprofen and hopes.  It’s not the soundest medical advice. 

In a little while we are supposed to go to the park, but I’m not in the mood.  In fact, if I’m honest, this post is just filler, just me reminding myself it’s Monday and I have to blog. I’m not in the mood for people in general, save maybe Mark and K.  I was sick over the weekend and am only now starting to feel like myself again, and would just like to take a day to relax.   

I don’t have anything profound to say about our country or the troops or those we’ve lost in battle.  I really wish I did.  I am too consumed at the moment by my own little problems, and I can’t see things in a bigger picture.  I have tunnel vision right now.  However, at the end of my tunnel I see a little girl who loves that her father taught her to rollerblade, even if he did nearly kill himself doing it.  That, at least, is a beautiful picture, and something to remember.

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