Last night, near the tale end of supper, I was hit with the sudden realization that I was getting sick. Hit like a sudden blizzard, that is. My throat started to throb and the coughing set in. I may even sneezed on the potpie.
I’m kidding. I turned my head.
“Well, this really stinks,” I thought to myself, but to the family I spoke more mildly. “May I please be excused?”
In my mind, being “excused” meant disappearing into my bedroom for the rest of the evening. I didn’t tell them that this was the agenda; I just went. “Bed good. Bed warm. Bed what the Momma needs right now.”
Nonetheless, I felt quite sad as I lay there alone in my darkened room. We had planned on watching the Charlie Brown Christmas special after supper and here I was stuck with this stupid new cold. It didn’t seem fair and it was not where I wanted to be, but there you have it.
Suddenly I heard a shuffle and a snicker outside the door, and slowly it swung open. There framed in the doorway were five little bodies, silhouetted by the light of a single candle. “Hark the herald angels sing!” they began, and in the shadows I caught a glimpse of my husband, the sneaky ringleader.
Carolers! Outside my bedroom!
At that point I went from grinchy to grateful in about .002 seconds. My goodness, was I touched! Call me sentimental and I’d agree, but I wondered if they—or he—could be any sweeter.
Yes, I know. I’m sentimental.
Together they sang several of their favorites and then the door swung shut once more. Granted, they were off to watch the movie without me…but suddenly, I didn’t care.
I fell asleep still in my clothes but with a smile upon my face. We moms try so hard to make lasting memories for the family throughout Advent (Admit it! You know it’s true!) that this was such an unexpected gift.
The best presents always are, I find. They are the ones that we don’t ask for, and for that reason we love them best of all.
Have a blessed 4th Sunday of Advent, everyone. The birth of Our Lord
is very near.