I think I’m starting to fall into the birthdays-are-just-another-day downtrodden mindset. As much as I tried to convince him yesterday, Bryan was far too persuasive for me and I ashamedly backed down. His birthday was yesterday and mine is in 5 weeks. I’m sensing I’ll be full-blown indifferent by then.
On a brighter note, my Gran is doing well. She doesn’t have pneumonia, but a pneumonal chest infection. Due to her asthma, they admitted her to get the right medication to her and give her some rest. My mum tells me she hasn’t been outdoors in 4 weeks and, I’m slowly realising, life is catching up to her.
For as far back as I can recall, my Gran has been out walking every day, rain (but when has that stopped a Scot from going outside) or snow, she’s been out there. Even on Christmas Day when I was 14, she tried to convince me that going out in the freezing rain for a 30-minute jaunt around the streets was the best idea I had heard in a very long time.
She has always looked younger than her years, and I think getting her daily exercise in and being exposed to the fresh air every day has been a huge catalyst for that “plight”. You’d think I’d learn something. Sadly not. Although, by my own admission, I do go out walking twice a week with the boys. Rather than cave in and buy a double stroller, Ian has opted to ride in the basket under Cameron’s bum. He quite likes it, and it makes for a much shorter, but definitely less interrupted walk.
Ask me if I’m still doing it when the two weeks of Arctic temperatures roll in.
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