I need a Sabbath–not a Sunday. . .Sundays are NOT Sabbaths. Growing up, my parents and grandparents often referred to Sunday as “The Lord’s day.” And it IS. It IS The Lord’s Day. I felt like today was The Lord’s Day–I know I spent a lot of time with the Lord’s people. I taught Bible class, and worshipped, and shed a tear or three as I listened to my husband guide our minds in communion thought. I ate lunch with my family on the way to one of our teen’s Sr. receptions where we made a brief appearance before they dropped me off RIGHT BACK at the building to help hostess a baby shower, then I came home and pretty much collapsed.
I took off my makeup and any constrictive clothing (which I’d had on most of the live-long day), threw on an old t-shirt and “laid down for a minute.” Or–180 minutes as it turned out. Yes. When I awoke at 8:00 p.m., I was a little amazed that I had slept for three hours. I got up with that drugged late, nap stupor hanging around my head like a cloud of gnats, stumbled into the kitchen and ate the first thing I found (two chocolate covered strawberries from the shower), then downed an enormous glass of water.
My family, meanwhile, had been whipping rope. And buying plane tickets. Are you confused yet? I know how you feel.
At 9:00, the children–both of them–came wandering into the study unable to sleep. They’d been at it–the whole trying to sleep thing–for about 25 minutes by that point. When this happens, there is only one thing to do. Go and talk to them. I knew the problem–they’d not gotten to be with me any. They needed some mommy time–never mind that Thad will be ten in June, and Victoria will OFFICIALLY be a teenager in July. I started with the girl–laying sideways across her bed on top of her down comforter with her beside me. I stroked her hair and her face like I did when she was a baby. I saw her relax–she wasn’t asleep–just enjoying the attention. After a few minutes, I got her into bed the right way, pulled her comforter back (too hot for that) and covered her with her sheet, then went and retrieved the fan someone had taken out of her bedroom and turned that on too.
Next was the boy. I climbed into bed with him (nearly breaking my ankle on some errant, ever-present Legos surrounding his bed) and began removing the lumps of various and sundry stuffed animals from under my back. He said, “So. Are ya gonna ask me questions like you always do?” “Like what boy?” “Like how was my day and stuff like that?” “So, Thad. How was your day?” I asked. And he told me–we sauntered from rope whipping to Lego cars to Wendy’s. He was talking about how he was thinking about Wendy’s nuggets and fries and Frosties and I said, “Boy. Did you eat any dinner?” “Ummmm. . . .nope.”
Well, there’s your problem. This is yet another thing he has inherited from his Daddy. Forgetting to eat.
Off we went to the kitchen for a big bowl of Raisin Bran. I sat beside him at the table as he downed it and tried to make his stoneware bowl sounds like a crystal glass. As he slurped the last of the milk I said, “Better?” He nodded. “Better.” And off to bed he went. Both of them are asleep now. Tomorrow is Victoria Day. (Hope all of you Kooky Canadians enjoy your day of sloth.)
Meanwhile, tomorrow is also a Monday. NOT a Sabbath. That’s okay. . .no one but Canadians get a Sabbath tomorrow. 🙂