Karma is a big, fat, foul-tempered, bad breathed bitch.
“Can you rub my legs?”
I am in that delicious phase of sleep, when you’re drifting off, but conscious enough to enjoy it. He makes a fairly reasonable request. He’s been doing something strenuous at work (OK, OK, I wasn’t really listening. I rarely do.). But I have had a shit day. And I’m just feeling kind of mean.
“No! I would never ask you! How come you never think to do that for me? I can’t believe how selfish…”
He apologizes, then rolls over.
Now I feel bad. But I think I can overcome it. I try, try, try to get back to the sweet spot of sleep I was in. He’s twitching in his sleep, because he’s in so much pain. I am a rotten person. I watch the hours tick by. Both kids take turns waking up for water/reassurance/just because. When everyone finally settles (even Ol’ Twitchy beside me), I look at the clock.
The alarm is set for 7:00.
Shoulda just given the leg rub.
Karma is a bitch…with a kick-ass memory.
(I remember bits of this, but mostly, its family lore.)
My family has been invited to a church supper. It’s not our church. We don’t have a church. I know I’m supposed to be on my best behavior. As we’re getting ready, my mom happens to glance in the fridge. “How long has that bottle of wine been open? We need to either finish that or throw it out.” We go to the church, and supper goes well. My parents are making small talk with one of the church families. I’d like to make small talk too.
“Well, I guess we better get home and drink that wine!”
My son and I are in the cramped hallway outside his preschool. Almost a dozen parents are waiting with their own kids. He’s putting his indoor shoes on, but he’s having trouble. I lean over to help him. It’s early, and I’m a klutz. Somehow, I end up pushing him into a door jamb.
“Oh mom, you’re so drunk!”