How To Best Fill Tomorrow’s Blank Page

One random day, I didn’t want to go to school. I can’t remember how old I was but think I was eight or nine. Close to my son’s age, although back then having a friend who was six months older was a big deal somehow, so me making a sweeping generalization about the ages of eight to ?? is probably only done as an adult.

My mom brought the thermometer to hold under my tongue. I held it to the light bulb next to my bed instead, and panicked when it read 116 degrees. I think it cooled down enough to be believable by the time she came back, but it’s possible she knew I was faking and let me stay home anyway. As I got older, if I said I didn’t feel well, my parents let me stay home. I didn’t abuse it but was faking at least half the time.

This morning, Tucker had stomach problems. I’ll spare the nasty details, but they were the kind where you run to the bathroom, hoping to not make a mess in your pants. It only happened twice, and he didn’t have a fever, but I left staying home up to him, remembering being home as a kid when I wasn’t sick-sick. He said his stomach hurt, and I pictured the poor guy running from his portable classroom to the main building (with a buddy) to get to the bathroom.

“What do you think?” he asked. “I think you know your body best, and if you think you should stay home, I’ll call the school now,” I replied. “My stomach feels weird,” he said. I called the school and let him stay home.

It couldn’t have been 9:30 a.m. yet when he first declared boredom. “Do you want to go to school? When people are sick, they need to rest. If you’re bored, maybe you should go.”

“My stomach still feels weird,” he said.

20 minutes later, he asked for a snack. It was definitely a day he could’ve gone to school. But still, I calmed myself with memories of my parents letting me stay home sometimes and with visions of him trying to make it to the school bathroom and failing. A nine-year-old may not live that situation down if he failed.

Of course, I had to work today, and only missed his sighs and “I’m bored” declarations when I was on the phone with colleagues.

Which is why, at 4:20pm, I took him to the trampoline park and even paid to jump with him, although I do much less jumping than he does at these places. And getting out of the house on a not-so-sick-sick-day is why I’ve now got this blank-ish page in front of me and exactly 37 minutes until I’m supposed to hit “Publish.”

Make that 26 minutes.

How To Best Fill Tomorrow’s Blank Page

A blank page holds so much potential, doesn’t it? You sit, ready to type and think of the wonderful images you might bring to life through your words. You also think of the epic failure that may happen due to sucking in general. It’s a both/and thing, really.

Talking about fevers and bathroom emergencies may not be a win. But, maybe in a few years, I’ll look back on this post and be glad I let my kid stay home when he didn’t really need to, that we played popcorn together at the trampoline park, and skipped the stress of making dinner with take-out Chipotle instead.

Thinking about the blank page and today gives me an idea. What if I rewrite today’s frustration to a story about the day Tucker knew he was well enough to go to school and stayed home anyway? That one day, maybe he’ll sit in front of a screen and type about the time he had Legos and screen time on a random Thursday in fourth grade?

Not all past stories or narratives are easy to rewrite, but thinking about doing so is a reminder that each tomorrow is a blank page. I can wake up tomorrow stressed about fitting in school volunteering before having to rush back to a work video call, resent work, resent cold February days…

I can also wake up happy that I have time to volunteer for a little while before coming home to get on a work video call, grateful to have employment in a time when so many worry about having it…

Both/and.

Really, the whole rest of my life is a blank page, right? I can feel overwhelmed and lonely, or I can walk into the cold air, move my body, and be grateful that I am here. Not everybody is who should be, after all.

How to best fill tomorrow’s blank page?

I’ll fail some days. Lose my sh!t on others. But if I can remember that each of these days and moments are framed by my perception, maybe, just maybe, I can write them with more laughter and trampoline parks, and less stress about the perceived boredom of a nine-year-old on a random Thursday when he didn’t really need to stay home but got to anyway.

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And now I have -2 minutes. This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post, where today’s prompt is a photo, brought to you by my sometimes co-host, Mardra Sikora of mardrasikora.com. I’m also -4 minutes now but still want to make a graphic, so… -8 minutes. Not too shabby <— me re-writing tonight’s stress story 🙂