Tears, Trails and 3 Foot Tall ~ A trail run turns warm and fuzzy. Another great read at http://diaryofadomesticdiva.com
Family,  Kids

Tears, Trails and 3 Foot Tall

Tears, Trails and 3 Foot Tall ~ A trail run turns warm and fuzzy. Another great read at http://diaryofadomesticdiva.com

So, this morning I snapped.

On my kids. The boys, to be precise.

Because boys will be boys. (<– Insert sing-songy voice here.)

Spare me.

I was getting ready for my run. The sky was blue, the sun shining gloriously. But before I knew it I got sucked into refereeing one of their scraps.


I stormed into their bedroom, separated them and may have even uttered¬†yelled the words, “Every day I live is one day¬†closer to dying and THIS is how you want me spend a beautiful, summer day with my children?!

Or something like that.

Parenting gold, amiright?

The truth is ugly, you guys, but it doesn’t mean the kids deserve to have it yelled in their faces.

I’m pretty sure they’re not scarred for life.

Pretty sure.

Each banned to different rooms, in a huff, I took off for my trail run/walk, leaving the eldest in charge. Emotions were raging in my head and I got off to sluggish start. But once I got into the thick of my workout, I found my mind had cleared and my mood was significantly lighter.

Until I was about five minutes from home.

Walking back, my mind began wandering.

To those words I had uttered.

I felt deflated.

Then thoughts drifted to my grandmother, my abuela Isabel, God rest her soul, whose birthday was July 8. Perhaps because I had drained the last of my water, I randomly thought back to how she used to fill a pitcher full of water every morning and leave it on the counter all day, a little doily sitting atop it, and how she would drink her water every day from that glass pitcher.

A simple daily ritual.

Then to my mom, whose birthday is in three days, and who would have turned 67. Just…missing her, especially when I’m having a bad day and want to call her up to talk to her about it.

A phone call many take for granted.

Then to my dad, with whom my relationship has only strengthened throughout the years.

I wish he lived closer.

Meanwhile, this song by Classified starts playing in my ears:


When you’re alone, life can be little rough
It makes you feel like you’re 3 foot tall
When it’s just you, well times can be tough.
When there’s no one there to catch your fall.


In that moment I did feel alone and about three feet tall. I felt I had overreacted with my boys. I wanted to reach out to that long-gone maternal presence. I lamented the fact that I don’t have my mother there to “catch my fall”, as it were. I feel certain I could handle these ‘mom moments’ so much better if she were here to be my sounding board.

Not my dad. Not my husband.

My mother. The mother figure I miss so much.

These feelings are not new, but in that instant they overwhelmed me.

And I started to cry.

On the trails.

Until I came around a turn and happened upon the sweetest scene.

A woman — she might have been the grandmother — was seated on a bench holding the cutest little baby,¬†who couldn’t have been¬†much older than eight or nine months. As I approached along the trail, the child, perched on her grandmother’s knee and playing with the long grass — clearly fascinated — looked up at me with bright, blue eyes and smiled a most beautiful¬†smile.

And I smiled back brightly.

In that moment, she changed my day.

I’ve got this.

Erica writes with humour and heart about family, #fit40s and living life in the carpool lane. Part-time banker by day and Netflix-addicted-cake-decorator by night, Erica's in-between time is spent dreaming up ways to ruin her kids' lives. Obviously.

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