Seeing Spots

I had to pick my kid up early today from his high school physical conditioning camp.  Nothing...nothing...could have prepared me for it.  Now, don't get me wrong.  It was a bunch of sweet high school kids, mostly boys, one even came up to me as I walked in to see if I needed anything and he immediately fetched my kiddo for me, but the smell.  The smell!

I hang out with chickens a lot.  They have a smell.  It's a farmy kind of smell and I actually rather like it...or at least I don't find it offensive.  We have dogs.  We love 'em, but they definitely get their funk on.  I hug them anyway, of course.

But the smell of fifty-ish kids using heavy weight equipment in an un-air conditioned environment that likely doesn't get much cleaning, in very tight quarters, well, I turned around and waited by my car. 

And I must've looked pale or something...I was definitely seeing spots.


Little guy:  "That smell hit ya like a haymaker, eh, mom?"

Me:  "If that means I got hit in the face by something really big and hard, yes."


And then we drove home, me sweaty after a long walk on the trail and my little guy who admitted that he'd not had a shower in two days.

Dave had no idea of the haymaker that was barrelling his way!


P.S. I still haven't added a layer to the larger piece I'm working on.  Perhaps tomorrow.

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