Rubber Boot Running*

Every day I pack up the kids and make the hike down the road to get Ruby to and from school. It’s basically a straight shot up the street from here to her school, so on the way home we can see our house from quite a distance.

I thought I’d provide you with a little entertainment today.

At 3:20pm yesterday I got the boys dressed and we started off on our walk to go pick up Ruby. I usually check the mail on the way there, but yesterday the box was empty. I figured maybe there just wasn’t any mail that day.

We made it to the school and turned around. As the weather has been absolute crap the last few days, I was in my rain boots, winter jacket, headband and mittens pushing Prince Will in my giant bright green double stroller. Ruby and Hank usually like to walk along side me so they can play.

As our home came just into view (waaaaay up the street) I thought I saw someone walking toward my house. People often use the bottom of our driveway to get on the sidewalk, so I didn’t think much of it.

But the I saw the person walk up to my front door. I was mildly curious, but as I wasn’t expecting company, we just kept strolling along.

Then I noticed the mail van next to the mail box and realized that it was probably our postman delivering a package that would require a signature. And as the Hubster’s phone had died on the weekend, it was likely the new one he had ordered. I knew he had to go into Toronto for work today, and didn’t love the idea of not being able to reach him all day, so I made a faced a decision:

Let the postman leave a notice slip, and not be able to pick up the package until tomorrow. Or, I could sacrifice my dignity and make a run for it.

I started to run.

I started to attempt an out of shape sprint down the road, calling at Hank and Ruby to follow me. They misinterpreted this as a call to race, which I’ll come back to later.

There I was, sprinting down the street in my rain boots and winter coat, pushing my giant green stroller as I see the postman walking away from my door toward his truck.

So, I did what any sane person would do: I started waving my arms as I was trying to run and push the stroller. The postman saw me and was probably frightened but did an awkward wave back as he started to get into his van.

So, naturally I started yelling while waving my arms and pushing my stroller. I finally made it to the mail van as he was putting on his seat belt, and as I panted out “That’s my house” he started to laugh and said, “Ohh! I have a parcel for you. Just need a wee signature.”

I managed to pull my out of shape self together and scribble my name, as my two sobbing children came dragging their feet up behind me. The postman took one look at all of us and started laughing again as he drove away, the precious parcel now in my possession.

As Hank reached me he choked out, “I didn’t win! I don’t want to race anymore!!!!” Tear tear sob sob.

Ruby trudged up behind him, also teary and upset that she had lost “the race”. I tried to explain that I was not actually racing, but had tried to catch the postman before he drove away… which of course did absolutely nothing to quell the despair that they had lost “the race”.

So, I brought my teary children up the driveway just as the Hubster pulled in. As I regaled him with my escapades he roared with laughter, and I won the double prize for best wife and worst mom in one go.

I think it’s time to start running again… just maybe not in my rainboots.

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