Have you ever had the feeling that something bad was going to happen to someone you love? I've had that feeling lately. There's no reason behind it, no explaining it or pinpointing it, but the feeling is there nonetheless.
Like when I'm driving with the boys in the car, I am worried about being in an accident. I've never been in an accident before so think maybe I'm due.
Or when the phone rings, I hesitate before answering expecting bad news on the other end.
So when I'm feeling like this, I am slightly high strung. I am craving quiet, safe activities that don't involve running with scissors.
What I am not craving is the boys on the roof, staring over the peak from the flat spot, yelling down and waving. And when I anxiously yell up, "Sit on your butts! Don't move! This was a bad idea! Come down now!" the response I get is "Oh Mom. Don't worry." That's like telling me not to breath.
And I am not craving a brush burning party, with fire lapping the lower branches of our tree and our dog circling the burn area barking like a mad man while the boys wait near the edges for the snakes to slither out of the fire's way. And when I start screaming, "The tree! The tree!" what I am not craving is John's leisurely stroll with the hose because he wants a few more leaves to burn up before he puts the fire out.
I am now convinced that the ominous feeling I've had hasn't been for a loved one but for my own well being, and the bad thing I have been running from is my own heart attack, which I narrowly escaped this weekend. Maybe I'll feel safe tomorrow.