But I Survived

This weekend was a memorable one.

It started with a five mile run on Friday.  I’m out of shape.  I thought I would probably die.  Or, failing that, I would kill Wes, who kept insisting that I pick up the pace. 

But I survived.

Which gave me the opportunity to face my own mortality again when we went to run some errands for the church and ended up in the most horrific traffic I have ever been in.  (And I’ve lived in Asia, y’all.  You don’t know bad traffic until you’ve shared a lane with motorcycles, bicycles, cars, vans, and eighteen wheelers.  One lane.  Yes.)  I thought I would probably die.  Or, failing that, I would kill Wes, who kept insisting that I refrain from yelling at other drivers lest I get shot.

But I survived.

Then, we picked up the girls from school and took them to the park.  It was so hot.  And the ducks at the duck pond?  Started in on  some sweet duck lovin’ right there in front of everyone.  Which must have been what prompted those random human couples to start doing likewise, right there on the grass.  The girls were very curious about this.  I thought I would probably die when they began asking questions.  Or, failing that, I would kill Wes, who couldn’t walk fast enough to get us out of there and protect their innocent little eyes.  (I should have insisted that HE pick up the pace, huh?)

But I survived.

The next day, I asked Wes to show me how to use the weedeater and the edger so I can be the queen of lawn care.  (I already mow the lawn and weed the flower beds — look at me with my bad lawn care self!)  He was happy to do so and passed me his protective eyewear, handing the weedeater over to me and standing by to watch my progress.  I thought I would probably die when I got too close to the flower beds and the earth literally started moving.  Or failing that, I would kill Wes with all the flying mulch and projectile garden stones, which sent him running.  Whoops! 

But I survived.  (And, wow, did I laugh for a good long while afterwards, even when Wes took the weedeater away from me.  LOL!)

I also made Wes’s great grandmother’s carrot cake for him this weekend.  The recipe calls for approximately eight thousand grated carrots.  I thought I would probably die when I grated off a good portion of my pinky finger.  Or failing that, I would kill Wes when he took his sweet time tasting the final product, hesitating for a long, agonizing moment before declaring my work as “so, so good.”

Fortunately, we both survived. 

A good weekend, all things considered!

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