Next week is a vacation from work for this bitch.
Mercy, when is the last time I had a full week including weekends off from work?
Lawd, no wonder a bitch is feeling frayed at the edges!
I’m going to take the opportunity to tackle some posts that my ass hasn’t had the time or energy to dive into. Oh, and work on my book too, which I’ve been avoiding after the most recent downpour of writing because the sudden onset of ideas kind of freaked me out post drought.
Shit, I know that doesn't make sense but a bitch never claimed to be right in the head.
Yesterday this bitch played Santa Bitch and delivered toys and books to the shelter.
The chil’ren where beyond excited, which they expressed through loud as hell screams, spinning in circles and then dropping to the ground and the tossing out of random comments along the lines of “Do you eat glue? My momma told me not to…but I still do it.”
As the boxes were unloaded from Miss SisterGirl Cabrio into the entrance hallway I noticed one of the mothers in the main room reading to her infant daughter while rocking in a chair.
That slow steady rock in rhythm with the soft lilt of her voice managed to stand out despite the riot going down.
"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse."
I watched as that baby’s eyes locked on her mother’s face…intent and serious, as if her mother was reading from the Book of Knowledge rather than 'Twas the Night Before Christmas by Clement Moore.
The heavy security door closed with a hard clank and the baby’s gaze faltered. I couldn’t help but resent that sound for disturbing them even though that door means the difference between violence and peace.
The rocking continued as I moved boxes into the room and settled them beneath the massive tree.
As I completed the task I stepped back slowly…that sweet baby’s eyes were closing. She was fighting it, but the combination of a full stomach, a comfy blanket and all that rocking would be too much for anyone, much less her infant self. Those serious eyes finally closed as her mother finished the poem.
"He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle."
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
They continued to rock…mother and child…as the book was set aside and the noise that had seemed so loud when I first walked in the door faded away.
As I left them I thought of the gift waiting beneath the tree and the gift they had already been given in each other.
And then I went in search of the trouble the quiet was masking, because there ain’t no way in hell four loud and hyper toddlers all fell asleep at the exact same time.
Uh, uh…no way in hell!
Who knew they could do that much damage so fast?
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