The baby was just dozing off in my arms, not quite ready to be transferred to the bed, when the doorbell rang. Girls ran to answer it. Bean’s head appeared in my doorway.
“Mom, it’s, um, Guy.”
Guy is our very nice next-door neighbor. It’s highly unusual for him to ring our bell, so I slid the baby onto the bed rather more hastily than was conducive to his remaining asleep. As I hurried down the hall to the door, I heard him already beginning to rouse and fuss. Shoot. I’d had things to get done during that nap.
When I got to the door, no one was there—except a stranger walking away down the sidewalk, a sheaf of flyers flapping in his hand. We get many such visitors, young men wanting to let us know about discount on vinyl siding or yard work.
I turned to Beanie in befuddlement.
“I thought you said it was Guy!”
“No, Mommy. I said it was ‘some guy.'”
“He felt he had no choice but to side with the pencils.”
Wednesday: Five Moments
The Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Moms
pink paper pianos