“How was church today, honey?” My mom smiled at me, unwrapping a stick of butter and dumping it into the mixing bowl before her.
“Fine,” I replied. “Really good, actually.”
She looked at the paper handout in my hands and nodded. “I think your brother had the same lesson in Sunday school.”
“That’s cool,” I said. “I taught part of mine.” And for once I didn’t die doing so, I added to myself. That was the real accomplishment. I watched as she dumped a cup of flour into the mixer and turned it on. The rolling hum of the beaters filled the air, and I watched, fascinated by the continual stirring.
“Do you want to help me make bread?” Mom asked.
“No thanks,” I said. “I’ve got some stuff I want to do.”
“Ok. Well, we’re playing Scrabble after dinner. Let me know if you want to join.”
“I’ll think about it,” I replied, smiling. I turned away and headed downstairs to the basement. It was the perfect temperature in the evenings, now that Spring had finally arrived–no more feeling like icicles would form on the nightstand. I headed for my room and flopped down on the bed, staring at my bookshelf across the room. Maybe I’d finally catch up on that stack of books I’d said I’d read. Or finish my homework–I hadn’t done my last three English assignments.
But it was Sunday. Was it really worth it? I stared at my backpack, the zipper practically begging me to grab and pull.
“Your English homework!” It cried, grinning toothily at me. I swallowed and shook my head. “Please?” It asked. Now I just rolled my eyes, laughing at it and myself.
I had six days to give to the world: school, the new job, my friends and the ever increasing pressure of living. But some things are important, and I knew I couldn’t let myself forget what they were. I shoved the bag back under my chair and went upstairs to join my family.
Thanks for reading,