Irish Yoga

It surprises me how many people comment about the age of my children. “Only a couple more years and it’ll just be the two of you. You won’t know what to do.” Well, this week was kind of a dry run.

Andie moved to Orlando. Laurel and Varsha are on their way to D.C. The boys have been at Chadron State football camp. Forgive me, I’m a man. I spent the first day of just the two of us for the first time since 2010 thinking, “OHHHHH Yeah!!!”

We got up early and brought the last batch of pairs in from the home pasture. We sorted and hauled most of the day, the cool breeze turning to a hot baked wind by late afternoon. But, I’m a man of focus, and I’m not letting cattle, or weather, or fixing the sprayer and rolling up the last of the wire side track me. I’m headed for the house on a mission, and you can imagine how utterly happy I was when my lovely bride offered me a glass of wine.

Some of you will remember what happened with my last glass of wine over a year and a half ago. I was even less prepared this time. I was so focused on my day that I think I stopped at the house around noon and had a bit of salad. On an empty stomach and most likely dehydrated I smilingly raised my glass and drained it. The next thing I know, I’m laying on the living room floor doing Irish yoga.

I couldn’t feel my teeth and I was singing, “Riunite and it feels so good, Riunite and it’s understood.” I have to tell you, I’m somewhat surprised and embarrassed about how much of that song I know. Sometime, during my serenade, Allison went to bed, but she left me in the living room in the ‘Drunken Dog’ pose. I was on my knees, backside up in the air, arms extended back with palms up, head facing to the right in a little puddle of drool.

That’s the position I was in when my phone woke me. Now, when my phone rings after 9 pm, I freak out a little. No one calls me after 9, except when my kids are scattered to the four corners of the world and it must be an emergency. I’m up and scrambling for my phone, but my arms are asleep, so I just flail them at the phone like pool noodles. I succeed in knocking my phone across the kitchen floor.

If I wasn’t so stubborn and cling to the past so tightly, I’d have a smartphone and could at least have answered it with my nose or face recognition or something, but, noooo, I still have a blasted flip phone. I dive on the floor and start pushing it around trying to bite it or bang it against the cabinets with my head hard enough it might pop open.

For the second time, the phone says “Call from 308…”, I only have about one ring left and it goes to voicemail. I spin around and get hold of it with my toes and pry it open. I desperately throw myself towards the speaker and shout, “What is it?!” A perky voice answers, “Hi! This is Heather. You’ve qualified for a six night stay at the resort of your choice.”

I start SPEAKING IN TONGUES! I have no one to interpret it but the dog, and she must have known what I said because I saw her scooching toward the stairs on her belly.

Stay sober friends, and have a romantic weekend. I’m sleeping on the couch.