Everything Happens For a Reason, Right?

That’s what I’m telling myself today.

So, Caroline was supposed to go camping with her friends this weekend.  They were going to camp tonight, followed by a trip to the pumpkin farm tomorrow.  This all worked perfectly because the Army Ten Miler race is tomorrow.  Caroline would be off having fun with her friends, climbing trees, making s’mores and frolicking in a pumpkin patch while I got to run my favorite race.  Win-win.

It was the plan of all plans: two happy girls having fun, each in their own way.

All week Caroline has felt a little *off* in the mornings thanks to a lingering cold and post nasal drip (eww, I know).  Each morning, she felt icky first thing, but then perked up and was fine for the remainder of the day.  We thought all of this was in our past because she felt pretty good yesterday morning.  So this morning, she woke up really hungry at 6.  I was half asleep, so I fumbled down the stairs and in to the kitchen to get her the quickest thing possible:  string cheese.  She ate the cheese and went back to sleep, only to wake again at 6:20 starving and on the edge of losing it.  Craig tends to feel sick when he’s hungry, so I thought nothing of it.  She ate yogurt and a blueberry muffin and felt great.  And hour later, she felt sick and then barfed!

And now she feels fine.

ugh.

Also?  What gives?  For a kid who never gets sick, she sure is getting sick a lot this year.

I could not, in good conscience, send her off to go camping knowing that she wasn’t 100%.  I certainly wouldn’t appreciate it if my friend expected me to take her child, who threw up that morning, on an over night camping trip.  Therefore, I made the decision to keep Caroline home today.

Naturally, she’s devastated.  However, assuming she’s fine tomorrow, we’re going to meet them all at the pumpkin farm so she can at least participate in some of the weekend’s activities.

So now that Caroline is home with me and NOT camping, I will not be running the Army Ten Miler tomorrow.  It pains me to say this, because it truly is my favorite race.  I’m sure my excitement over running races is a foreign concept to some of you, but words cannot explain how much I look forward to racing.  The excitement of race day (and even the days leading up to it) is unexplainable.  I just plain love it.  I’m sad that I won’t be running the Army Ten Miler, but taking care of my kid is more important.  I need to know that she’ll be okay in the morning and I wouldn’t be able to really focus if I knew she wasn’t feeling her best.  In all honesty, I could probably find someone to look after her tomorrow morning, so I could run, but I can’t bring myself to do it.   It just seems excessively selfish to me.  And while admittedly, I’m very selfish (exhibits a-z:  this blog), I’m not sure even I could do it.  What kind of message would that send Caroline?

Maybe it’s a sign?  Perhaps I might have stepped in a pot hole on Constitution Ave and broken my ankle?   Perhaps Caroline might have been stung by a bee or fallen out of a tree.  Clearly I’m grasping at straws here, trying to find something to make me feel better about missing the race, but it’s my only coping mechanism at the moment.  Do you ever do that?  Wonder if plans fall through as part of an even bigger plan that might protect you from something tragic happening?

I realize that my sadness over missing a race is a first world problem.  There are far more people in the world with real problems like poverty and sickness and homelessness.  I’m not particularly proud of myself for crying because I can’t run a race.  Yes, I cried.  I never cry.  But this just makes me sad; sad in a way I cannot truly express.  As I tried to explain to Craig,  my life is pretty boring, so looking forward to something like a race, gives my spirit a bit of a lift.  Sure, some of the tears may have been spiked with self-pity; for that I am not proud.  I shouldn’t dwell on blips as small as these, especially when I’m spoiled rotten and living a good life.

I guess that goes to show that having lots of things, albeit non extravagant things, having a roof over our heads  and being debt free cannot buy you happiness.

Only running the Army Ten Miler can do that.

Well….something like that.  You know what I mean.  We all find joy in different ways.

I’ve spent the whole morning second guessing myself, especially since Caroline is feeling great now and asking to go to the indoor pool.  My brain is telling me I’m a fool, but my gut (intuition?) is telling me otherwise.  I just hope that Caroline will feel great in the morning so we can join everyone at the pumpkin farm to enjoy a warm sunny day and some fresh pressed apple cider.

I hope the vividly colored leaves on the trees and the tables full of gourds and indian corn do the trick to help me forget about missing my race.

In the mean time, Craig will have to represent for the both of us in his shadow Army Ten Miler run in Afghanistan.  Somehow I doubt the dusty course he’ll be running will hold a candle to running in Washington, DC, but the competition isn’t nearly as stiff, so he’ll probably do quite well.

Go Craig, go.  Take one for the team.

***Edited to fix a few atrocious grammar mistakes.  Also, it’s a FIRST world problem, not THIRD world.  Duh. I’m hopeless sometimes.

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3 responses

  1. Pingback: An Unenthusiastic Trip to the Pumpkin Patch | The Neurotic Housewife

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