I often say this to myself when I enter my bedroom. Andi sleeps in our room, very lightly, and while I avoid entering the room as much as possible, sometimes I have to go in. If she sees me, her sleep time is done for. The slightest rousing from her cues me to drop to the ground and army crawl to whatever it is I am after in my room. Some days it's laundry, other days, it's my M&M corner, and other (rare) days, it's my bed for a 20 minute nap.
Patrick and I mastered the army crawl years ago. Mom and dad slept downstairs, and woken by our giddy little footsteps in years past, had warned us to stay in bed on Christmas eve. Sneaking from our beds to find out what Santa had brought necessitated a more planned approach for viewing the contents of the family room in the wee hours of Christmas morning.
The days immediately before Christmas morning commenced practice drills after mom and dad went to bed. During daylight hours, we pow-wowed. "I'll come get you when they're in bed, then NO talking. You follow me." (I was a natural born leader back then.)
Sometime after 11 PM, I'd slink out of my bed, walking so lightly I practically floated into my little brother's room. We had already gathered our flashlights in the light of day. Waking him, we'd both slide to the floor and begin the crawl, flashlights in hand.
The floating walk has stuck with me to this day. And 10 plus years of ballet and pointe only refined it. "GOOD GOD WOMAN! Someone needs to tie a bell around your neck," Dave yells, startled, as he suddenly finds me standing next to him in the kitchen.
Dave has been tasked with completing a task at work in the next week --which is nearly humanly impossible-- while one of his bosses is off "compartmentalizing." And you better believe the other bosses stayed true to form and are still handing him assignments that must be done NOW. For the last week, this has meant working til well past midnight, including the weekend. By the fifth night of his scant presence in our home, no break imminently in sight, and after a long week of drama with family, friends, and Glen Beck in his new role as peacemaker, I had flat had it. If only I could "compartmentalize", things might be easier, but since I live in reality (sometimes), this will not happen.
*The preceding paragraph was brought to you by uncontrolled passive agression and you may ignore it if you wish.*
Laying on my bedroom floor that fifth evening, fresh out of M&M's, and never one to sit and do nothing, I explore my collection of miniature tea sets which were under my bed. Buried in with my tea sets I found "The Witch's Burned Stew." It was published in 1984 by the Edwards Elementary Writing Center. I authored this book in 3rd grade. I spent a lot of time in the writing center, finding it a great way to avoid recess and kick ball. My editor, a parent volunteer, would edit my book with me, and then she'd send me on my way with paper and markers to illustrate my book while she set to work typing the text. We'd meet up in a week for her to preserve the pages in contact paper and bind it together.
I read the story to Sophia and Ella the day after finding my book. Finishing the story, I looked up, the third grader in me goofily smiling, and I couldn't wait for their feedback. Sophia smiled, her embarrassed smile. Ella looked at me and said, "that was kinda stupid."
Per Ella's request, I read it again. The second reading was enough for her to make a certain judgment of my literary skills.
"STUUUUU-pid."
 |
| A decisive critic, Ella holds back nothing in her assessment of fledgling authors |
The 34 year-old in me laughed. Oh well.
Kenny Rogers sang in my ear, summarizing our week,
"You can't please everybody...
but you,
gotta please yourself."
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