True story. Tonight, afer a very, very long (albeit lovely) day of work, errands and life in general, I made my way upstairs to my bedroom to climb out of my clothes and into my jammie’s.
I stripped down to the skin God gave me, and stood for a moment to take a deep breath when the thunderous sound of feet racing up the stairs was followed immediately by my door bursting open (as I faced it wearing only surprise) and two of my children exploding into the room.
We all screamed (for different reasons I imagine) and my daughter shoved a brother out into the hall, locked the door and fell on my bed laughing and yelling at the banished boy. They were arguing over who was my favorite. They chose that particular moment to settle the debate since my daughter had made grandiose claims that I texted to her that SHE was the most favored. Their arguing continued while I stood naked, and stunned. And naked. Completely naked. Did I mention that I was naked? Because I was. VERY NAKED. And yet they persisted in debating at full volume, the standing each had in my heart. The heart inside my very naked body.
It is hard to maintain a sense of dignity and decorum in this household under the best of circumstances.
“GET OUT!” I yelled into the vacuum of my children’s attention.
“GET OUT AND LET ME GET DRESSED! ALONE! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY, GET OUT!”
She scrambled off the bed and out the door, slamming it behind her while they continued to argue about who I loved best. Finally my son called loudly through the chaos “JUST TELL US WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE!”
That was it. I snapped.
“SWEET BABY JEEZUZ! GO AWAY!”
I heard my son say quietly to my daughter as they retreated:
“See? I TOLD you it wasn’t you. It’s Jeezuz.”
And now for a drink. A strong one. But first, CLOTHES.