Mom Over Miami - By Annie Jones Page 0,51
break from worrying? Had the man lost his mind?
“Put the kids out of your thoughts.”
He was out of his mind.
“And answer this one question for me.”
“Answer a question? That I can do.”
“This pageant thing, you wouldn’t start working on it right away, would you?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because I have a project I want you to start first.”
“What?”
“A second honeymoon.”
“Miami!”
“Yes! Mi—how’d you know that?”
“Oh, Payt, sometimes you can be such a man.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you made these plans, and it never occurred to you that while you might be able to keep a secret from your wife, you could never keep one from your cleaning lady.”
“You saw the notation on my desk.”
“And it’s been killing me not to tackle you, hold you down and make you tell me about it.”
“Really?” He arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll just keep the details to myself a little longer then.”
She cuddled close to his side and kissed his cheek. “Behave now. We’re in church.”
“Okay.” He held up his hands. “I’m the picture of chaste restraint. For now.” He winked. “So, what do you say? Do you want to go to Miami?”
“Want to? Have to. All my life I’ve waited for this, for someone to come along and fly me away. But….”
“No buts. Whatever your reservations, we’ll work them out.”
Miami. Just like the paint she’d used to cover up the mess and mistakes she’d allowed to happen in this room, this trip would help her create a clean slate.
“Hannah? Hannah, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking…” She threw her arms around her husband and said, “I think it’s perfect.”
She sniffled and blinked the tears from her eyes just as she noticed the faint outline of Noah’s Ark beneath the coat of Eggshell.
15
Subject: Nacho Mama’s House column
Sam is on a mission,
The dog is under the bed.
Tessa is in the laundry basket.
And I’m in over my head.
La la.
No, not really. I haven’t actually gone off the deep end—yet. But the Christmas pageant planning committee doesn’t meet for another two weeks, so give me time!
That’s not a complaint. Or a prediction. In fact, for the first time in quite a while, I can honestly say that getting dragged into another responsibility I’ll likely mess up has definitely had some positive effects.
For one thing, it’s Christmastime in the Bartlett household. Too early for most reasonable people, I realize, though you’d never know it by the store displays of trees and plastic light-up yard figures! But how can I complain when my son, who until now had a pretty shaky grasp on the miracle of Christ’s birth, suddenly started practicing all the parts of the Nativity story that might be played by a little boy equipped with a terry-cloth head covering and his father’s striped bathrobe?
Moreover, Sam wants to include the whole household in this newfound wonder, from Squirrelly Girl (thus the hiding, because fawn-colored greyhounds are just one sweat jacket—properly stuffed and cinched on to form a hump—away from looking like perfect camels, you know) to Tessa. Yes, my lavender-colored laundry basket is now a makeshift manger bed.
I guess the cliché should embarrass me but there really is nothing like seeing Christmas through a child’s eyes. My child’s eyes.
Sappy, huh?
Well, we’re all allowed our moments. Especially around this place, where nothing seems to hold that sweet sentiment for long.
NOTE TO SELF: FINISH COLUMN BEFORE SENDING
“Oh, no you don’t!” Hannah reached down into the laundry basket to retrieve something black-and-white and dripping in baby drool. “Sam, did you give your little sister a dog toy to chew on?”
“Yes!” he called from inside Payt’s walk-in closet, where he’d gone to plumb the depths for a silk necktie. Silk neckties, he informed her, make awesome sashes.
“Squirrelly’s toy is the only thing that’ll quiet her down!” he hollered loud and clear.
He had a point. Even now the baby, who moments ago had lain there contentedly gnawing on the rubber toy made to look like a rolled-up newspaper, coughed and sputtered like an outboard motor gearing up to roar.
“She has teething rings in the freezer. Please go get one for me. I’ve tried three times now to go out and get the mail and something always—”
R-r-r-r-ring!
“Interrupts me,” she muttered under her breath. Dog chew tucked under her arm, she headed for the phone.
“Here. I’m done with this for now.” Sam swept by in a blur, pausing only long enough to shove Payt’s bathrobe into her arms and to hold up a red silk tie. “If that’s Payt on the phone, will you