Sunday evenings have never been my favorite night of the week,. There is always that dreaded back to work feeling that looms over everything; and there are always plenty of pesky little jobs that need doing, papers to stuff into bags, uniforms to arrange, permission forms to sign, last minute French homework to complete. My mind starts to wonder towards all the things that need doing this week, what is on the agenda for Monday morning and who I need to call or email. If I am in a particular Sunday Night Frame of Mind, I might even jot down a few meal ideas on a scrap of paper, one that will inevitably end up under a large pile of papers, hiding by Wednesday night.
Coming home after a lovely Sunday evening spent with friends is hard because it is always later than it should be “OMG is it already 9pm???” and we are all a little impatient while running around squeezing all those Sunday tasks into a very short time frame and to be honest, while in a smooth white wine haze.
Tonight was the kicker. We got home at 9.05 and the house was dipped in a dark cloak, suggesting a power cut.
“Damn. I hate coming home to a power cut,” I grumbled as I carried three bags out of the car, one full of wet towels that would need to be hung up, and one filled with shopping that needed to go in the fridge.
I crossly stomped into the house, groped for matches and lit a few candles.I opened and closed the dark fridge and hung the towels on the backs of chairs. It was then that I remembered the storm. Earlier that day, while at the pool attempting to get some sun, the skies had opened and unleashed buckets of rain. the like of which I had not seen in some time. It was as if a damn had broken up there in the heavens and no one could find the plug. The kitchen was flooded. At least two inches of water lined the floor and the counters were a fine mess too. But the worst sight was the girls’s bedroom. Their carpet was drenched and stank like wet sheep. The floor was a pool with odd birthday cards floating next to a fluffy cat. A bucket and a few tea towels repeatedly squeezed did the job, as best as possible, considering that there was no power and it was dark.
Tea lights are all very romantic but one cannot mop a floor effectively by their lovely glow.
Tonight is also the Super Bowl somewhere in the far off Great Shiny West. My crazy husband seems to have temporarily forgotten that he is not 21 and is considering waking up at 2 am to drive to a friend’s house to watch it. I would hope that when the power returns, so does his sense.