by Mark Ball
So, did you catch the parade last night?
No. Not the one where they throw out candy. No. Not the one with big, bright and shiny fire trucks. There was no long line of sparkling emergency vehicles, but if it went by your house you would swear that there were many sirens, and you might spot a clown or two.
I’m talking about the latest adventure in the Ball house — family walks.
Back when the last snow melted, my wife Leslie announced this summer’s challenge. The Ball family will focus on fitness by walking ourselves into greater shape. To provide a visual focus, Leslie posted a big sticker chart on the wall to track our progress.
The program is simple. Ten walks equals ice cream for the whole crew. Simple enough in theory.
However, theory gave way to harsh reality sometime back in November when we welcomed two new boys into our home ages 2 and 4. These special arrivals have fit in with the Ball team right away while giving us a formidable quadruple threat. In addition to the original two, Molly (10) and Riley (9), we now have weebles ages 2, 3, 4 and 5.
We are a house full of love. Everything here is fun, but nothing is easy. Dinners are major productions. Getting dressed in the morning needs to begin days in advance. Bedtime looks like an industrial assembly line. So going for a walk around the block … well, it’s no walk in the park.
On a parade night Leslie begins giving an overview of the route while everyone is still seated at the dinner table. Eavesdropping on her pre-walk directions, a concerned neighbor might think we are planning an attack.
“In exactly 10 minutes we will be exiting through the garage. You cannot, I repeat cannot, go it alone. Pair up people and don’t desert your partner! When you reach the sidewalk, make an immediate 90 degree turn left. Let’s move it people, double time!”
The execution isn’t quite as precise as the directions she gives. Somewhere between the garage door and the sidewalk, the pairings separate and it becomes obvious that not everyone is prepared for the mission. One has their shoes on the wrong feet. One has their shirt on backwards. One is wearing high heels, and we tell him that they won’t be comfortable for the walk.
Once their equipment is adjusted we mobilize and begin the walk.
“Two in the front. Two in the back. Two in a stroller. Now, let’s roll!”
We get almost three doors down before Leslie decides we need a formation change. The first pair aren’t getting along and the last two are sitting down.
Mom adjusts the troops and we are back in motion. Now one of the stroller riders is clamoring for the sweet freedom of walking. We quickly switch a marcher with a rider. As we reach the stop sign, almost five houses away from home base, the dreaded walk-killer occurs.
“I’ve got to go potty!” the three-year-old announces, which sets off an amazing chain reaction of bladder emergencies. When their requests to turn back are denied, serious crying ensues. First one siren sounds. Then the next. And finally a shuddering cry can be heard, which Leslie soon realizes is me.
“Okay, back home!” Leslie shouts as she announces the end to another less-than-a-block parade. Neighbors seated on their porches cheer and wave as we pivot and turn back. Once through the door, Leslie proudly places a sticker on the chart. One short parade for the neighbors, one giant step toward ice cream for the Ball family.
