I'm writing under a deadline. Amy wants to get to the church early tonight and make a few stops before hand so she gave me that look when I sat down to write. The look most husbands are familiar with I suppose. It conveys disbelief, dismay, and a certain amount of doubt that I'll be able to do what I set out to accomplish, and still meet the commitments which lay before us in a timely manner.
It's been that type of day. I didn't sleep well, and so of course I was confronted with a crush of events at work, post election stories, a major drug bust, a convenience store robber shot by a police officer. In between there were confused coworkers, stories that needed rewriting, and some unnecessary friction created by folks who should have better things to do. These are things I wrestle with regularly though. In the end I usually find no matter the outcome, I am no worse for wear. Such was the case today. I survived it.
As I sit down to write, Amy is wrestling with Klondike - the big black dog as he has come to be known by children of our friends. Actually she is trying to wrestle away a scrap of cloth Klondike has snagged and is coveting in a manner designed to create jealousy among our smaller dogs. His plan worked. There is havoc aplenty.
The scrap of cloth is actually a piece of some of my old boxer shorts we cut up for dust cloths. There is really no way to adequately describe the din of dogs barking punctuated by the voice of the woman you love saying, "Let go of Dad's underwear!". These pictures can only hint at the cacophony of craziness.
It's been that type of day.
Moments ago, Amy lost the wrestling match. Klondike overpowered her. He snatched the piece of cloth with all his might and swallowed it whole.
Today I wrestled the problems at work and came away victorious, but sometimes you simply have to admit it when you're overmatched. In those cases, like the instance of the eaten undies, I take comfort in remembering that this too shall pass.
