SUPPORT GROUP FOR WIMPS

Hi, my name is Reese Mobley and things that go bump in the night scare the crap out of me. Living breathing creatures that crawl—other than puppies or babies, are creepy. I rarely watch scary shows, even from the comfort of my living room. I’d never pay money to see a scary movie at the theater. I’m not a thrill seeker or an adrenaline junkie. That’s not to say I don’t ever or have never done any of the above, but if I can avoid them, I can and do. I am a wimp. I’ve come to terms with my level of wimpiness.

Which brings me to this blog.

It was a dark and stormy night.

Really it was. Dark and stormy. And late. All three kids had been tucked safely into their beds. Hubby and I were happily snoring away beneath our soft flannel sheets with the cartoon sheep on them. The rain raged on accented by the occasional crash of thunder or stab of lightening.

Hours into our slumber, we heard a strange noise that didn’t resemble anything normal or from Mother Nature. The sinister sound came from the basement where the two oldest children each had their own rooms. I covered my head. Hero hubby decided to crawl out from the warmth and comfort of our sheep sheets to check on their safety and scare away any boogiemen who dared to linger longer.

Hubby’s weapon of choice was an aluminum baseball bat. Clutching the bat tightly, he turned on the hall light, peeked into all the upstairs rooms and headed for the basement. In the meantime, I rolled over and tried to reclaim some much needed beauty sleep. After all, he had everything under control.

The house grew silent. The hall light went off. I knew hubby would soon be joining me in bed. I dozed off. He slid between the sheep sheets and asked, “why’d you turn off the hall light?”

My heart stopped. My eyes flew open. Those fine hairs on the back of my neck stood erect. Goosebumps dotted my arms. And legs. And everything in between. “I didn’t turn off the light.”

“Then who did?”

Gulp.

When morning finally peeked through our windows we crawled out of bed. No worse for wear, but as tired as if we'd slept with one eye open--which we had. It was then that our youngest son, a four year old, looked up from the cartoons on the television and informed us that we’d stupidly left the hall light on and he’d taken care of it for us.

Thanks, son.

Hugs, Reese