Since The Dad leaves the house at the buttcrack of the sunrise and because he's been battling a cold, he was already up - tired and sleepy, but awake none the less.
Since I also have a cold and sleep with a man who snores on a good day (he snores like a tornado through a trailer park on a day when he has a cold), I hadn't been sleeping well. Add to that, when I coughed, I peed the flippin' bed! (It's a occupational hazard of every aging momma!) The last time I checked the clock was 3:15. I think at that point, I actually went to sleep.
Since my eighth grade classes are studying The Dairy of Anne Frank - the drama not the diary, I'm up to my heavy heart answering questions and guiding research about the horrors that were inflicted upon the Jews during the Nazi occupation of World War II.
Since I would probably swim with sharks or dead lift a trucker if my friend FloJo told me to, I'm reading Sarah's Key - a haunting tale of the Parisian police's roundup of thousands and thousands of Jews during World War II because FloJo told me to read it and, well, I pretty much do whatever she tells me to do - except eat avocados. Blech.
 |
| The police always ring twice, which I guess is better than rammign the door down! |
My eyes opened and my heart raced. Then the doorbell rang again. It was not a dream doorbell. It was a real doorbell. And my still-asleep brain told my body that my worst fear was playing out: The Nazis had come to my home.
I knew what to do. I had read countless stories of how the Jewish families would layer clothes when they were about to go into hiding or were about to be taken captive. So, I jumped up and quickly found the dirty clothes hamper and began layering clothes. I also began yelling, "Don't answer it! It's the Nazis!" It's probably a good thing my voice was almost completely gone thanks to my cold and sleeping with my mouth wide open.
I ran down the hallway bouncing like a pinball against one side of the wall and then the other, clearing my throat and trying to be more clear about the distinct possibility, I felt we faced: that the Nazis were at the front door.
I bounded into the living room wearing yoga pants, pajama pants and a pair of jeans along with a nightgown, two shirts and a sweatshirt. The Dad was just closing the front door.
"OHMYGAWD!" I hollered, "Did you just open the door?"
"Yeah," The Dad groggily responded, "It was the police."
"WHATTHEHELL? You can't go like that!" I screamed at my husband standing there in his boxer-briefs.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said as he walked toward the garage.
"STOP!" I pleaded, "Don't go!"
"Honey," he said grasping my thickly-layered arms, "I have to put down the garage door."
What? The garage door? Clearly I didn't understand, so I questioned him, "Huh?"
"The police stopped because our garage door was still open and they didn't want our stuff to be stolen by anybody who might be out and about," he explained as he fingered my layers. Really. Just the layers.
"So, it's not the Nazis?" I asked sleepily and at that point - hearing my own words - I realized that perhaps, just maybe, I wasn't fully awake.
The Dad, ever concerned with my well-being said, "How much cold medicine did you take?"
Maybe, just maybe, Momma needs a sick day!
