I’m half awake, half asleep, lying in my bed at a rather early hour for a Saturday morning, and feeling a little groggy. In an attempt to squeeze in a few more minutes of sleep, Olivia has joined me and Mike in bed, along with an assortment of toys (all of which seem to lose her interest in a matter of seconds), and she is busy pounding away at my back with her little fists and “Ah GAH”-ing me at the top of her lungs.
My eyelid slides open and I can just barely see over the edge of my bed to the floor that is softly aglow with pre-dawn light. There is my water glass from the night before. My Bible, my slippers, my… what’s that long thin thing with a slight curl at one end?
I reach down to investigate, and pull up… one of the arms of my glasses. Detached from the rest of my glasses. Suddenly I am awake.
“Oh no!” I exclaim.
“What…” asks Mike in a half-dreaming voice.
“Turn on the light. PLEASE!”
Mike takes a few seconds to compute this
command request and its implications for his continued sleep this morning, and then slowly reaches his hand up to click on the light by his side of the bed.
In the harsh cast of incandescent light bulb it is now completely obvious what is wrong with my glasses. The screw that used to keep the arm in place is missing. It was there last night when I went to bed. This morning? Gone.
I grab the other half of my suddenly handicapped glasses and hold them up to my eyeballs (which can’t see clearly more than about five inches in front of my face) while I frantically start scanning my bedside for any signs of the missing screw. Nothing. Vanished into thin air.
I am not going to name any names, or point any fingers, but I suddenly have a suspicion about what has happened to my glasses and the oh-so-important screw.
Two witnesses can testify to having seen a certain someone at the exact crime scene not five minutes earlier. Granted, the details of the two witnesses’ testimonies might be a little faulty due to excessive early-morning grogginess, but still, a witness is a witness. On top of that, the primary suspect has been known to eat anything she (or he) can get her (or his) hands on, including, but not limited to: a ladybug, a handful of dirt, a teeny tiny coffee bean, and a carpet fiber. Or a glasses screw.
The primary suspect, however, refuses to talk. And I don’t want to even think about what I would have to do to prove my suspicions right.
So, what happened to my glasses screw? The world may never know.
Read more Parenting Mayhem here!