So, Sunday morning dawned bright and clear. The sky was blue. The air was fresh. The breeze was warm. The birds were singing. I sprang lithely out of bed and hopped gayly to the shower. All my household were cheerful, and happily getting ready for a traditional family Sunday: First to Breakfast together, starting the day with a wholesome, nourishing meal. Then together to Worship. Finally to Fellowship together around the Sunday Dinner table, joyously revelling in each other's company.
Sunday morning actually dawned... but I'm only assuming so because the sky gradually lightened in the East.
Breakfast was grabbed on the fly, as each one wended their groggy way from bed to vehicle. Toes were stubbed. Voices were raised, and not in joyful song.
We fled the homestead in a scattered manner. Husband first, boys together next. I would be picked up just before the Service.
Or... so I thought.
I worried as the clock ticked toward 9:45, knowing that I was not quite ready, but was able to relax as my toilette was finished and the time showed 9:50.
I began to worry anew.
The service starts at 10:00.
The Husband would soon be mounting the podium to lead Worship.
The Boy would be in the sound booth.
At 9:58 it began to dawn upon me that perhaps, just maybe, possibly I was not going to get picked up for Church today.
At 9:59 I put on my walking shoes and hit the road, heels in hand.
I was halfway there before The Boy was observed driving toward me on his way home.
My presence was missed when The Husband called on me to make an announcement. Even then he thought I was just downstairs doing something for later in the morning.
When The Boy jumped like he'd been bitten by a snake and took off out of the sound booth, The Husband merely thought he was unnecessarily running down to get me.
At least it was a nice morning. The air was warm and the birds were singing.
And I could justify a cookie at coffee time!