Rachel was in the house putzing with her zipper while I walked the babies a little ways down the street. I looked back a number of times because I didn't want to upset her by getting too far ahead. I could see her silhouette hurrying as fast as she could, but she did walk outside noticeably discouraged that we left her.

Instead of thinking that the world or day or morning or moment was going to hell because Rachel was unhappy with my decision to hurry her along by going ahead and telling her to run, I opted to see and feel.

Then I smiled big. And an even bigger smile came running towards me. She was able to climb up and jump off the boulder in the yard up the street, and we made it to the bus stop early.

On the way back I said hello to a pair of gentlemen who I cross paths with some mornings. Lloyd said hi too. Then, with a "good morning," I passed a lady with a little fatty dog who taught me the true meaning of putzing. Across the street, a voice yelled "Hey" to me. I stopped and stared and said "Hi." He was excited to see me, but quickly changed his mind when he realized that I might not have been the person he thought I was. I stared some more and shaded my eyes just in case the sun was interfering with my ability to see someone I was supposed to know. No, I was pretty sure that we never met before. I started to say so, but let him speak. "Don't you have the store up the street?" He asked. I said, "No, that's not me. I have these guys," pointing to my kids. And we agreed that we must not know one another. Meanwhile, the lady bumping the little watermelon up the street had caught up to me and been privy to the whole thing. She and her dog were witnesses. Now she knows I don't have a store up the street. She knows that this guy was going to spend some time today wishing that he hadn't said anything this morning.