The morning began like so many of our Sunday mornings. It was 8am and I knew we needed to get up. I rolled over and nudged my husband, Matt. “You need to wake up.” No response. But I knew he heard me.
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“If you want to get to church on time, you have to get up now. If you do not get up right now, you are choosing to be late to church.” I continued my monologue with a plan for the morning emphasizing phrases like “feed kids,” “jeans without holes,” and “food ready in fridge.” At “I’m taking a shower” he came alive.
“What?! Nooooo. You should have taken one yesterday.”
“It was rainy. My hair would have frizzed up.”
He groaned again. “I want to be on time to church today—BEFORE worship starts.”
“Me too. If you get out of bed, we will.”
“Fine. But you have to shower right now.” (He knows I’m clueless to the art of quick showering.)
We agreed. Matt would get out of bed and feed the kids. I would skip coffee and start my shower.
Sometime later I stepped out of the shower and got my towel.
Bang! Bang! Bang! The bedroom door. “Mom! Will you wake up dad?”
What?! My fight or flight instantly put up its dukes and I yelled back. “Is Dad not up?”
“I’m hungry! Will you wake Dad up?”
I stuck my head out of the bathroom door and saw a log-sized lump under the covers.
“Matt!” I felt like a towel-clad ninja warrior about whip out a can. “Matt!” I yelled louder. Was this a joke? Then I sucked in a breath. What if he had a heart attack in his sleep? I stepped toward the lump.
And then somehow I knew. I flipped the covers back and my suspicions were confirmed.
Pillows.
I had to chuckle. My adrenaline slowly subsided. “Ha ha ha. So funny,” I called out sarcastically. But I couldn’t help it. I had to laugh again. Was today April first? I checked my phone. Nope. Still March. I opened the door and there was Matt with the kids—all chuckling with big grins. “We tricked ya!” my oldest said. And all I could do was laugh.
God really did give me the perfect husband.
Oh, and by the way, we made it to church on time. 😉
