One afternoon, I unlocked our door, barely dragging myself into my kitchen. I narrowly missed smacking the overflowing garbage with my hip. The room gave off a rotting salmon smell. Eyes tired and burning, I tossed my purse onto it’s little shelf by the coats, and my large accordion folder on the small, round wood table. I dropped into one of the cushioned chairs, forehead first onto the table surface.
Within half an hour, my back door slammed open, and my five-year-old, Sam, saw me.
“You asleep, Mom?” I squeezed my lids tight, then lifted my head and opened my eyes. There was a smile on my face as I turned to him.
“No, kiddo, just waiting for you.” I tousled his short brown hair as I rose.
I opened the fridge and grabbed the Sunny Delight. There were no small juice cups anywhere in the cupboard, so I checked the dish rack. Nope. Of course all four were in the sink, in the dishwater I had filled to “soak” my dishes last night. Inwardly groaning, i unplugged the drain. The cupboard under the sink had sponges, and I retrieved one, adding a drop of Dawn to the sponge. In seconds the cup was ready, and I filled it.
“Time for devotions,” I cheerfully announced, “Can you get the Bible out of the living room, Kid?”
He disappeared for a moment, then came back with my small study Bible.
“I want to read palms, Mommy.” he said.
Furrowing my brows, my head shot up.
“Read palms? Babe, God doesn’t like it if you read palms, and do astrology signs and all that. We read that a few weeks ago.”
Now he frowned. “But mommy, I just want to read palms.” he was turning pages.
“Like I told you,” my tone was sharper than I wanted,”we don’t read palms.”
“Mommy, I just-”
“That’s enough of that, Sam!” the exasperation in my voice was grating on my ears, “Just go to your room right now, so I can calm down”.
His eyebrows dropped to right above his hazel eyes, but he obeyed.
I glanced at the Bible before picking it up. It read “Psalms.”