the middle knitter

Lord's Day

It is 7:15, Sunday morning, and Jeannine Thomas is wondering, as she does every Sunday morning, about the meaning of the words "day of rest". The pancakes are nearly done, but her hair isn't. Abbie is at her heels demanding to bring her new ballerina mouse to church, and the telephone is ringing. Jeannine burns herself on the pan turning off the heat beneath the pancakes, and hisses, but does not curse--not in front of her toddler on a Sunday. She distracts Abbie by sending her upstairs to wake her brother, and catches the phone by the third ring. It's Sister Ruth from church. Jeannine balances the telephone against her shoulder and turns on the sink. She runs the cold water over her hand as she assures Sister Ruth that she's quite well, thank you for asking. Sister Ruth is sorry for calling so early, but it's an emergency. Anita Adams has just called. Her little boy had a fever last night, so Anita wants to keep him home and won't be able to come tend to nursery this morning. Through the window over the sink, Jeannine can see Abbie in the backyard in her nightgown, dragging the cat across the yard by his middle. And of course, Sister Ruth thought of Jeannine straight away, the children love her so much, and would Jeannine mind terribly taking over nursery duty this morning?

Jeannine shuts off the water and assures Sister Ruth that she'd be happy to, and she's sorry to hear about Anita's little boy, and no, it isn't any trouble, and of course she'll have a good morning, thank you. She hangs up the telephone and dashes outside to collect Abbie and hustle her back inside, noting along the way that the cat needs to be fed. Inside Jeannine is grateful to discover that Owen is awake, though she snatches a box of Lucky Charms out of his hands and directs him to the pancakes on the stove. Her husband will fuss about the lack of a family breakfast, but judging by the sound of things, he is still in the shower and unable to complain just now. Jeannine carries Abbie upstairs, stepping over a battered sombrero and red plastic telephone on the way. In the bedroom, she argues with Abbie about which of the several dozen virtually identical ruffled dresses with bows the toddler will wear today. She has just negotiated that if Abbie wears the purple dress with the white bows, she can take her ballerina mouse to church when Owen calls from downstairs. There is a note of distress in his voice that Jeannine can't ignore, so she reluctantly leaves Abbie and steps over the sombrero again on the way downstairs.

She finds Owen having a breakdown on the front doorstep, holding his hands in front of him like something diseased. There was dog poop on his shoe, he explains, and he tried to clean it off, and he got some on his hands! It takes several minutes to convince him that this is not the end of the world as we know it, or even of his individual life. Jeannine sends him inside to wash his hands and crouches on the porch to scrape the shoe against the grass. The cat strolls around the corner of the house and looks up at her with his 'feed me!' eyes and a loud meow. A glance at her watch tells Jeannine that is is now 7:52, and she has exactly 38 minutes left to take care of the dishes and the cat and the sombrero, 38 minutes to have her family and herself clothed, groomed, and in the car. And she thinks that if the Lord really did want them to honor His day of rest, He should have provided for a lot less church and a lot more hot baths and live-in nannies.