I’ll be honest. I went to bed last night without a clue as to what I was going to post this morning. I’d made the weekly story-telling challenge, so I knew I would need to come up with something, but I had been enjoying my little girls so much this week, that I actually completely forgot to prepare something. But God has a way of providing.
We live in a house that is split into four apartments. My parents are in the lower apartment, which is great during this season of our lives, as they are able to spend a lot of time with the kids, and Jeff and I are able to get some date nights here and there. Last night we broke out the wine and enjoyed an end-of-August glass or two with my parents in our tiny back yard. We told stories from my childhood. My mom wanted tea instead of wine, so she made herself a glass. This was one of those times that choosing NOT to drink actually led to some very bad decisions.
When the smoke alarm goes off during the day, especially if it’s one of those that states a disproportionately calm “FIRE. FIRE.” while screeching loud high pitch noises, it can be unnerving for young children, and particularly stressful for the parents of those children. But when it slams right into your dreams at 2:30am like a demonic freight train coming out of nowhere, thats a whole other story. The children are crying, you’re stumbling around in the dark, trying to find out if there is actually a fire. You’re exhausted from staying up late and telling stories with wine. And you’re pretty sure the rest of the night is shot after that adrenaline rush.
So why did the smoke alarm go off at 2:30 in the morning? My mom couldn’t sleep. She was making muffins. At 2:30am.
“What hath night to do with sleep?”
― John Milton, Paradise Lost
I’ll meet you back here next time, more prepared, I promise. I’ll never complain for lack of story again.
P.S. Mom, if you are reading this because you still can’t sleep, I am coming down there and demanding a muffin for breakfast. And a strong cup of tea.