“Aren’t you glad it’s Friday?” one of my mom friends said to me as we walked into baseball camp.
“Yeah…but I didn’t get all the work done I needed to this week…”
“Will you have to work on the weekend?”
“Well, maybe…” I added.
Then, No, I can’t, I thought. I’d just have to get as much done as I could and put it aside. I have two other personal writing projects I need to catch up on. Work will be there Monday, thank God.
And Monday we’d be back to normal, back to school. Not that the kids were all too happy about it, but I would be. Routine is good.
Just that morning as I was swiping concealer under my eyes, I noticed how puffy they were. I could see the scar that remained from a wayward baseball bat at age 8 very clearly defined next to the half-circle under my left eye.
One of my yoga teachers says that stretching the corners of your mouth towards your ears is like an instant facelift. I figured I’d better practice that exercise a lot. I smiled at my reflection even though I didn’t feel like it. It was one of the days where having kids made me feel older, not younger.
I smiled at my friend.
I smiled at my kids though they had already taken off into the inner sanctum of baseball camp — the “land of testosterone,” one of the other moms had deemed it on Monday. I think moms are invisible in the land of testosterone.
I smiled at the coach.
I tried to smile during every phone call and interaction throughout the day. It got easier as time went on.