Sunday afternoon nap.
Ah, sweet, glorious, holy Sunday afternoon nap. I use it as justification for staying up much too late on Saturday night. I dream about it when I happen to just “rest my eyes” in church that morning. I miss it dearly during the school year when I have no choice but to grade papers all afternoon in order to stay afloat.
At lunch today I politely decreed to my little family that I was going to take a nap no matter what. I didn’t care who had to do what to make it happen, but I was getting one. After two different tries to convince Bubba of this fact, my time finally came. It was sweet and glorious and holy just like all Sunday afternoon naps should be.
But it was short lived. You see, I was jolted awake by the following conversation in the next room:
Jay (in his loud, I’m really serious voice): I am NOT laughing. What did you do that for?
Jay: You jumped on my head, and didn’t even give me any warning! You’ve got to think!(Grunting, shuffling, and obviously leaving the room for effect.)
Twenty seconds or so pass. I’m caught between laughing at the picture I have in my head of what just happened and praying that Bubba will not be woken. Come on, people. My nap is at stake here.
I hear Jay reenter the room and Chica start that low, slow cry that means she is really heartbroken. The one that is preceded by five seconds of silence and a really awful look on her face.
Jay: Why are you crying?
Chica: You made me cry.
Jay: Why did I make you cry?
Chica: (Through sobs…) Your voice was really mad.
Jay: Well, yeah, it was mad. You jumped on my head. What did you think would happen?
I missed whatever happened next because Bubba did in fact wake up, chipper as ever. Nap over. Thanks for playing.
But here’s the part that still leaves me confused….even more confused than wondering how exactly she executed her attack. Less than a minute later, their conversation was back to normal. She had moved on to asking for batteries for some toy that had long been forgotten. Listening to their voices, it was like it had never happened.
See, if that had been me, I would certainly still be pouting at the one minute mark. Heck, I was pouting at the one minute mark, lamenting the fact that my nap was over….and it didn’t even happen to me. Had it been me, there would have been plenty of evil-eye-mean-teacher looks and probably some go-to-your-room-and-think-about-it time. He just forgave her. Forgave her and moved on.
Neither of us has the “slow to anger” thing figured out quite yet, but he is defintiely better at avoiding grudges than I am. I want that. Instead I huff and puff and grump around just to make my point. Chica has taken to sheepishly asking, “Are you happy, Mom?” when she sees me do this. I guess this is her way of saying, “I am sorry. Can we be done with this now?” More times than not this serves as a good reminder that it’s time to act like the Mommy that Jesus wants me to be, suck it up, forgive her, and move on.
So I’m doing that right now. Yes, Chica, I am happy. It’s ok that my nap was cut short. There are still plenty of Sundays left in the summer.
Just next time, please, give your daddy a little warning, ok?