Now that I am the Queen Mum around here, I would like to share a story of my midnight rocks.
10:30 pm... Last minute checklist. Geometry assistance: done. Lunches: packed. Backpacks: lined up. Just one more load of laundry, and I can call it a night. I threw the jeans and sweatshirts into the wash machine, and about that time, two unnamed residents decided that it was chamomile tea time.
I love those late night cups of tea. The younger set is asleep, and a hushed blanket of silence descends upon the house. No jumping. No leaping. No games of tag around the kitchen. It may be the first time since 6 a.m. that I have actually sat down to relax. The teenagers come out of their lairs, and talk about their lives. As long as no one makes any noise, we can sip hot tea with honey, and chat. Snacks are pilfered from various hiding spots in the top cabinetry. We all enjoy the serenity and peace of the darkness.
That was when Doug put the load of laundry into the dryer.
Our peace was shattered by the sound of volleying bullets of stone against steel, tumbling and crashing in the dryer.
"What kind of kid does this!?" Doug belted out. "Rocks! The dryer is full of rocks!"
It certainly was. But this time, it wasn't a child's fault.
I like rocks.
I had been in Duluth, and couldn't resist hunting for agates...and quartz pieces...and soft-edged, eroded sedimentary rocks...and some wave-polished broken bits of glass we call fairy tears...
The dryer was filled with rocks from the pockets of my sweatshirt and my jeans.
It was almost midnight when Doug tried to finish the laundry.
See? Midnight rocks.