Even My Sweat Smells Clean

I am tired. Not in the typical twenty-something sense of tired, that "oh, I worked all day and now I'm just going to watch TV" tired, but in the ageless, yet childlike, "I have not stopped moving for twelve hours and am going to pass out in my applesauce, thanks" tired. Replace "applesauce" with "verde sauce on my enchiladas" and that's me right now.

I slept in after going to bed early last night, then took a quick shower, ate a bagel, and met some friends at the Reservoir for a walk. People did laps around us by running, but it was nice to just stroll along. A bat flew overhead, kind of freaking us out since it was broad daylight. We saw a family of turtles playing in the water. Extremely large dead fish floated at near the shore. I stuck my arms out in front of me, begging for a tan.

After doing a couple laps around the Reservoir, we stopped at Dunkin' Donuts to get some drinks and their new tater-tots (delicious!) and walked to Dean Park for a while. Kids waved to us as their parents strolled them home. We cooed at puppies who sniffed around our bench. Eventually, I had to leave to babysit, but my friends and I promised to dine al fresco for dinner. On my way out of the park, I ran into Marianne.

"You're looking a little sunburned there," she said, pulling aside my straps. I shrugged it off and found my charges at home in their backyard. I was supposed to have Boy work on an art project, but he begged me to let him play with my blue mini-football for an hour. We went to a playground with a basketball and mini-football. Eldest's best friend was riding around on her scooter, so they ran off to play together. Baby, Boy, and I tossed the football around (Boy has a great arm for a kid who's thrown a football twice, Baby tried her best to catch my shovel passes). I ran around to catch the football, but the real work started when we played "basketball." Boy is too short to make baskets, but he's pretty good at dribbling. The only times I got the ball away from him was when he'd let the ball bounce too high while moving along. Then I'd grab it, amazed by how quickly I remembered how to pass the ball between my hands, how my body remembered how to twist and change course suddenly. Granted, I was outmanuvering a seven-year-old, but it felt good to have my muscles working. I felt the strength in my legs as I pounded over the pavement, kind of showing off for a hot guy I hoped knew the kids aren't mine, watching with pride when Boy managed to dribble the ball between his legs for the first time.

We packed it in after an hour or so, then finally did some work on the art project. After getting the kids cleaned off, I left to meet my friends for dinner. A few minutes before we were supposed to meet, they called to say they were on the same train a couple of stops away. Instead of making them get off the train, I booked it down the road. I'm not much of a runner, but I'm a good sprinter. Between my speed and a lucky break in traffic, I made the train. I had my first glass of warm-weather sangria at Sol Azteca today. I walked most of the way back from St. Mary's street, stopping to buy a magazine and a book. My skin is bright pink. I'm tired and I think I have heartburn. But I haven't felt this physically tired since I was hiking all over Italy, and I'm glad to have that kid-tired feeling again. Just in time for an 80-degree Monday. Swell.