May was the month of the neverending coffee break. It was like our usual routine ground to a halt for a cup of java and, once seated, couldn’t get going again. I blogged less that half of my usual posts and it wasn’t that I ran out of things to say. More like I ran out of hours. minutes. seconds. We all spent far less time in front of the computer. Far more time doing the important summer things. Like, you know, sun burning my feet, playing in the sprinkler, and instilling new family traditions into our lives. Trusting that closing the door on some possibilities opens the window for others…
And then there’s the watermelon. Which we’ve consumed in enormous quantities on the back porch. Why? Because they are everywhere. And by everywhere I mean every store, roadside stand, and overflowing my refrigerator. The boys have learned about spitting seeds and throwing the rinds beyond the tree line. Please. Because, should it fall short you must traipse into the grass to retrieve your rind. Faced with this possibility, both boys opt to let Caleb do all rind disposal. He always manages to chuck them way into the woods the first time.
But not me. Because I have to prove I can fling peel further than my five year old, I execute a full body pitch which succeeds in flinging the rind about twenty feet. Problem is the momentum carries my arm on around and I smack the person standing next to me, which happened to be Caleb, right in the face. There follows a shocked and awkward pause, like we’re all trying to figure out what just happened, before I start firing profuse apologies.
To which he calmly takes another bite of his watermelon and goes, “You throw like a girl.”