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My 2015 Fractured Fairy Tale

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03/31/2015

My 2015 Fractured Fairy Tale photo

I was debating calling this article “My Country Western Song,” but since I do not have a dog or a pick-up truck, I thought this was more apropos. With 2014 ending on a high note, 2015 has been a little rough, but I think I finally learned an important lesson.

Last year was great; we added Joel to our family, and I will briefly gush that he is sweet, handsome and smiley and his big brother has handled the attention-sharing very well. We are extremely lucky, minus a few trips to urgent care and one visit to the emergency room.

This year, I became the hot mess of the family. One of those reasons is sleep deprivation.

Having a baby is an interesting study in how to deal with tiredness. I have no idea how my wife has dealt so well with it. In fact, I am going to make a sweeping generalization that moms handle lack of sleep way better than I do. Don’t get me wrong, my recent lack of sleep wasn’t what cut my index finger to the point of stitches (that was an emulsion blender), but I think it has played a role in other aspects of my recent klutziness.  

The real culprit in my 2015, however, has been my need for speed. Not the drug – moving quickly. I like to get things checked off my list, so I’m often in a race with no one in particular. I wonder if that’s why my three-year-old hates to come in second place or even tie. Anyway, both bosses (wife and JUF) have encouraged me to take my time, and I’m going to start trying very hard to apply that advice, especially after my latest speed-related incident.

I took a day off recently and used the opportunity to try accomplishing all my errands. I ventured to our favorite butcher, hit two other grocery stores, and visited the auto-mechanic. But then I got greedy. I thought I should return my sunglasses to the mall before picking up family at the airport. I had a cushion of at least 15 minutes, but convinced myself that I needed to run into the mall. Had I not been running, the stones I stepped on probably wouldn’t have turned my foot.

The tiny bone break that resulted requires a massive boot and four weeks to heal. I now have been called “Gimpy” and can no longer sneak up on anyone (not that I did that before, but it’s nice to have the option).

My take away from this tired, sliced-up, limping start to the year? Sometimes you need to run, but most of the time, walking is your best bet.

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