The Bed You Make
After Julie puts words to unsettled feelings, inklings there has to be more to life, more to being Mom or Mrs., she unexpectedly loses her young son. Needing to forgive herself, and fight off karma, she tightens her grip on the rest of her family and almost loses everything. But as she learns to let go, she gains more than she ever thought possible.
THE BED YOU MAKE
The white picket fence you’ve always dreamed of could be just the thing that fences you in.
A young mother learns to let go and gains more than she ever thought possible.
As you make your bed, you still have choices.
“I’ll drop you off at Jared’s and you can catch the bus with him. Your father will be leaving soon and this way you’re not hanging here at the house by yourself.” I shooed Curtis off with my spatula.
“You wouldn’t have to if we had our own car,” Heather said with her mouth full of banana.
“Not now Heather.”
“Who has her own car?” Mike asked as he wiggled his tie tighter and dodged a fake tackle from Curtis.
“We don’t,” Heather said tossing her banana peel on the table.
“Oh nice. Pancakes on a weekday.” Mike said as he tapped on my right shoulder then reached around my left to pick a hotcake off the top of the pile.
Where did he come from? It’s like I have four kids. I slapped his hand with the spatula. The pancake fell right back to its top spot. Could he just help for once, instead of make everything into a game? “These are for the girl’s homeroom. And they’re running late,” I said.
“Doesn’t mean you have to make them.” He was right, but it was easier to make the pancakes than listen to the girls’ whine. I wiped my bangs off my forehead with the back of my hand as Nicole impatiently helped me whisk, pour, and flip.
“They won’t cook any faster by you waving that spatula at them,” I joked in an attempt to hide my frustrations. Trying to illicit help from Mike, I said, “Tell you what. You dig out a couple of aluminum pans from the pantry, and I just might be able to squeeze out a few extra pancakes for you.”
A clatter of plastic trays and a few cuss words caused me to flip a pancake onto the stove top. I turned in time to leap away from the stacks of paper cups bouncing and shooting like cannon balls across the kitchen floor.
“Thanks, but I only needed two pans.” I laughed and took the unopened stack of aluminum pans Mike handed me with his not-funny smirk. This is how they train me- screw up so bad I’ll never ask them again. Mike picked up the fallen trays and paper plates, and most of the plastic cups, and put them on the counter, not the pantry where they came from. Focusing on the pancakes, I couldn’t be bothered to ask him to put them back in the pantry where he obviously knew they came from. I added it to my to-do-list for later.
I filled two of the pans with five dozen warm pancakes, then took two pancakes off the top of a pile and plopped them on a plate for Mike.
“Hurry up Mom, we’re going to be late. Bye, Dad.” Heather said as she left out the door to the garage.
Mike forked a pancake and swiped it through the syrup on his plate. “Thanks for breakfast, Jules. Next time, can you make bacon, too?”
“Sure, on Saturday, per usual.” And on Friday I’ll do your laundry, Tuesday pick up your dry cleaning, and have your dinner on the table when you get home tonight. Exasperated, I threw a dishtowel at him. He caught it and winked.
He might think it’s all a joke, but I’m tired. When is someone going to wait on me? I slid my purse off the counter and made it into the garage just as Mike threw the dishtowel at the closing door.