Bound. Bound. Bound and Rebound. Not a Basketball Post, but a Reminder of Keeping Our Hooves Tapping.

I came home late last night after filling in for a colleague and working in K-8 schools all day to find that Glamis, the Wonder Dog, decided my comforter was a giant teddy bear full of stuffing and that it would be an absolute joy to pull all of it out and make my upstairs bedroom into a white fluffy cloud.

An hour earlier, I showed my favorite Budd Lucky Pixar short to graduate students, the same one I often showed as a classroom teacher, especially when senioritis kicked in and I wanted them to know that the ocean needed to be emptied (with a fork) and Sisyphus's boulder still has to be pushed up the hill.

I sang the song as I cleaned up the mess the dog made. She was punishing me because I spent over 14 hours out of the house and Chitunga only had time to stop between work and classes to let her out. I know that dogs are fully aware of the exact decisions they make. Am I happy? No. Did she make her point? Yes. I get it.

Now as for the dancin', you can do more / You can reach great heights, in fact you can soar / You just get a let up and ya slap it on down, / And you'll find you're up in what's called a rebound. / Bound, bound, and rebound. / Bound and you're up right next to the sky. / And I think you can do it if you give it a try. 

Reboundin' is all way have.