Sunshine

At the tail end of a weekend of fun at my parent's house I had a tantrum. I was trying to pack up and everywhere I found wet socks, shorts, snowpants, gloves. It seemed none of the four children had tried to hang out their clothes to dry on radiators. It brought back to mind how at the beach house the twins had their own room. Every day I'd enter to find wet bathing suits and towels on dressers, beds and the floor. I'd explain why this was bad: mildew, wet bad, damaged dresser top. The next day we'd go through it again. Their answer, "Mom! We're not perfect." I never was accusing them of being perfect, that's for sure.

So I went downstairs complaining. Mom, we're not perfect they said. We won't do it again. Seconds later one had dropped snowy minutes on the floor. "No one ever listens to me!" I screamed. I went up into a bedroom and started crying. A few minutes later, I heard the tinkling sound of a music box outside my door. It was playing "You are My Sunshine." My 12 year old, Aaron entered the room, turning the crank of the box, then came up and gave me a hug. Now that's a great end to a wonderful weekend.