Dad's first call was to a church in the suburbs. There was a parsonage, but the senior pastor had dibs. We ended up living 20ish minutes away. Dad also had business that took him farther and wider. In the suburbs, this is no big deal, unless you're a neurotic housewife. Every morning he went, and I knew there was no chance of seeing him (or probably anyone) until the evening. Leaving out for the moment the two babies, those long and lonely days felt very much like my own.
Now the church is across the street and the church office is in the backyard. The town is small and the people are close. Dad often stops by the house several times a day to pick up and drop off and look for a treat. And the last thing I want him to find when he walks through unannounced is me chowing down the bread of idleness, thickly spread with the peanut butter of self-excuse.
All of this also puts me in mind that Dad isn't the only one who could show up any time. I'd love to talk more, but I have wicks to trim.
Who you callin' idle?
9 comments:
Aye. And it's taken me a few years to learn that, even though I think I'm gnawing on the peanut butter toast of idleness for me, I'm much happier when I'm being productive.
Do they fully comprehend the power they wield, yea, without even trying?
No jam!?!
You guys and this site are great.
That's your table and plate, isn't it? And that's your decadent homemade bread, too.
Licking the screen just isn't the same.
Fox, Gauntlets, Anon: Yup, nope, and you so crazy!
Shrew, you sure know how to make a girl feel like a corpse on CSI. :D
Because I know my husband is out there working really hard at HIS job, and that he is a man who actually really appreciates good food, a clean house, happy children, and a pretty wife (ahem!), I try to work hard at my job at home too.
(and when he comes to pick up his lunch some mornings, I make sure I jump up from the computer pretty fast :P )
I learned this lesson on vicarage years ago when someone "just popped in" and found my children and I still in our pajamas. Mortifying.
i think my husband is ok with finding me in pjs, with my hand in the peanut butter jar once in a while. at least i'm not crying, frantic or mean.:b i'm pretty sure i can't extend this metaphor beyond our own walls, though.
I consider a mark of my own ambition if someone catches me in my pajamas; it means I still aspire to shower today. If I get dressed immediately upon rising, I've obviously already given up.
etem, the way I remember it, 1 baby=lots of peanut butter.
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