We navigate and negotiate a lot of challenges and conflicts in our marriage. For example, pretty much the worst thing either of us can be made to do is call the pizza restaurant to place the order. Worse than that? Driving to pick it up. Worse even than that? Having to go inside to get it. Avoiding these tasks involves a lot of horse trading. In many cases, it’s something along the lines of, “If I call, will you go get it?” “Well, that’s two tasks to one, so I don’t think it’s fair.” “But I’ll pick up the kitchen while you’re gone.” Sigh. “Fine.”
Graham had the statewide freshman/sophomore meet at the Reggie Lewis Center in Boston today. He was seeded eighteenth out of seventy-four in the mile, and he outperformed his seed, finishing sixteenth. He also set a new personal best at 5:01. The mile is run first, so we left shortly after he ran and went home to rest a bit while he stayed back with the team to cheer on his buddies. I took Dobby for a hike at some nearby conservation land and was happily looking for artifacts when Graham texted: We’re twenty minutes from the school and DJ needs a ride.
Me: Dude, you all left early. You could have texted from the Reggie when you were on your way.
Graham: I thought you were tracking me on Find my Phone.
Me: Not every freaking second. You might have to wait about ten minutes or so.
Dobby is used to running with me, so I started jogging through the woods to cut the time down. And naturally, about halfway back, I stumbled over a root and rolled my ankle. Just after I did, Lauren texted from the couch where she had been napping: You all set getting Graham?
Me: Yeah, but I just rolled my ankle running back to the car, so you may owe me for that.
I managed to get DJ to his house and Graham home. After reading a bit, I took a nap. When I woke up, it was dinnertime, and we had previously agreed on pizza.
Lauren said, “So what do you want to do about pizza tonight?”
Graham said, “I want Nick and Angelo’s.”
Lauren looked at me, but before she could speak I said, “I nominate you to order it and go get it because I had to get Graham from Silver Lake today and I broke my ankle in the process.”
“You can’t even call?”
“I told you that you owed me.”
“Oh my gosh.”
Lauren then texted the Goons to say, Dad can’t make a call to order pizza because “he broke his ankle” running through the woods to pick up graham from his track meet. So my pants are unzipped [it’s another story but means Lauren can’t do anything] and dad broke his ankle. Nothing will be getting done.
Grant then texted me separately: You really broke your ankle??
Me: No. I rolled my ankle
Grant: Like when I mixed you in yard soccer?
Me: You didn’t mix me, and I still won. But otherwise, yes.
Grant: By like two goals. You got lucky half the time we played soccer because you only won by like 2 goals
Me: Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.
Grant: That’s almost 🙄. You were like the Philadelphia Eagles of backyard soccer—lucky in close games.
Me: My 140-2 record in yard soccer against all of you says otherwise.
Grant: It was like 5 that we won and thanks
Lauren wound up calling for the pizza and going to get it and chastising me for not getting up to dress and mix the salad after she dropped it on the island and went to change into her pajamas at 6:30 pm at night.
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