Skip to main content

A Very Sad Story

In the afternoon of a hot day the realization hit me.  The children were all downstairs playing, watching T.V., or reorganizing the food storage.  I couldn't hear them except very softly.  I was so tired.  The bed was made but inviting me.  I saw opportunity.

I laid down, closed my eyes and allowed my mind to free fall.  Colors started to organize themselves into pictures.  I could almost make out the images.

Almost.

The doorbell rang.

Comments

  1. Uggggg...this is a very sad story indeed. I feel sorry for who ever was at the door. That would have been a bad situation if it was at my house because those moments of quiet where you get to lay down and drift are GOLDEN and should never be interrupted! ;)

    {Says the mom who has not experienced a moment like that anytime in the last five years...}

    ReplyDelete
  2. I take it that it wasn't Publisher's Clearinghouse at the door then.

    Because if it were, every day you could drift off to dreamland while you paid people to care for/tend to the kids, as well as someone to answer the door BEFORE the doorbell rang, and dispatch the visitor in a jiffy.

    Maybe I should finally send Pride & Prejudice back to Netflix, watching it repeatedly has caused me to covet servants.

    ReplyDelete
  3. That is a sad, and indeed tragic, story. I wish you many more moments of swirling colors....

    ReplyDelete
  4. That is a very sad story! I hate when that happens to me. If it's not the door, it's my kids. I had to give up the idea of having a nap a long time ago.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Hello. Please email me your mailing address as you won my Brenda Novak contest.

    Thank you

    Cheryl from Cheryl's Book Nook
    www.cherylsbooknook.blogspot.com

    clbstitch at yahoo dot com

    ReplyDelete
  6. That's when you ignore doorbell, instruct children to be quiet and pretend no one is home.

    Oh, that isn't the right thing to do?

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Braces!

13 year old got braces today! She also had a little helper on her.

Christmas Gifts

Jill is the slice of home baked pie you long for. Her dad was a farmer. His dad was a farmer. On a hot summer day Jill would call me up to go floating down the canal or ride the slick rocks with the stream into a barely thawed pool of water. She's also the girl I called one day when I was bored and offered to drive two hours and try out this new thing called "Bungee Jumping." We did although I can't remember why . The first year after my college graduation I found myself particularly low on pride.  First of all, I was a college graduate working as a sales clerk.  Too late I discovered that a bachelors degree in sociology is equal to a high school diploma and, in some cases, a G.E.D. and got you hired at JC Penney trying to upsale with a colorful scarf.  On top of it, I'd been dumped.  It wasn't that he was the love of my life.  In fact, it was quite the opposite.  He started planning the wedding aloud and I freaked out, pointing out that we'd only bee...

They Call Me Grace

I was nearly 8 years old when my baby sister was born. This was quite fortunate since I was well adept at reading. I was tired of my name. Nancy. So plain. The Sunday comics included a comic strip called Nancy. She hung out with her stupid little boyfriend named Russell, was very boring and cried all the time. Why would parents who love their child name her such a boring name? I assumed they had run out of originality by this point. I was, after all, their third child. There was Mike, then Suzy, after me they had Joey (short for Joanne) and finally Jene Marie. The "j" a soft French slur. It was fitting. We had a French surname. But clearly Jene Marie was their crowning glory. Do I hate for taking all the love from my parents and hogging it for herself? Of course not. She's my sister. She's my baby sister. But if I happen to feel the need to speak to her when she's at work, I always ask for her by using both names; Jene Marie (with the schwa). I don't want her...