I am a little sad that my guest posts are coming to an end. It has been a lot of fun getting to know other bloggers on a more personal level. This month has felt like a support group, a virtual hug of encouragement. Ironically these guest posts couldn’t have come at a better time either, right in the midst of spring fever and birthday chaos.
Today’s guest post is from Shelly at Tuesday2’s Blog.
Shelley has always been great at writing comments and giving feedback. I love the quote at the top of her blog that says:
Writing is a way of talking without being interrupted. ~Jules Renard Journal, 10 April 1895
Based on clear, concise word images through out her blog, I picture Shelley to be charming and compassionate in person. Her writing style is typically light-hearted and thoughtful, which is why I was totally unprepared for needing a box of Kleenex when reading her post.
A Little Bit About Shelley
First, foremost, and forever, I’m a mom. I have a supportive husband who has a wife that spends entirely too much time typing. I teach fabulous first-graders and they, in turn, teach me so much more. I enjoy reading, writing, and running (away from it all).
Memories, Woven in Flannel
The tree colored the night in red and green. The house smelled of Jiffy Pop popcorn, served up in a spaghetti stained Tupperware bowl. The console TV blared the theme from “One Day at a Time.”
Twin sisters clad in matching Christmas pajamas. Trying hard to stay warm in plaid, worn-thin flannel, they cuddled on the floral print couch with an afghan wrapped snuggly around the three of them. Grandma and her girls.
Too old for a real babysitter, too young to be left alone, Grandma and Grandpa were in charge. Mom and Dad were out on ‘date night.’
It was past their bedtime. But there was still popcorn to eat.
Grandma walked to the kitchen.
Two young girls jumped off the couch, a blur of Christmas flannel and hand-made crocheted slippers raced down the hallway. Grandpa met them at the kitchen door; shooing them away, grabbing the phone from the wall and stretching the twisted avocado cord across the floor.
The night was colored by flashing red lights. Sirens blared.
Twin sisters clad in matching Christmas pajamas, standing in a snow bank, huddled together with an afghan wrapped around the two of them. Soggy crocheted slippers.
The neighbors opened their door, took the girls into their home.
The ambulance sped down the hill.
Returning home hours past their bedtime, Mom carrying one, Dad toting the other.
Grandpa came home alone.
Twin sisters clad in matching Christmas pajamas, watched their dad cry.
Get to know Shelley at Tuesday2’s Blog