Freaky Friday Morning

Friday morning, Dad had left for work around 4 and Momma had left at 6. I rolled all of my lazy jackwagons out of bed around 6:15 and made sure they were ready for school. At 7, I drove them down to the bus stop and then went back to the house to wait for a while, I didn't have to leave for school until 7:30. When I got back to the house, I started to clean up the kitchen mess from making breakfast and packing lunches. When I finished, I saw one of Dad's coats laying in the family room, so I picked it up and took it to the coat closet in the foyer/entry way.

As I was hanging it up, I heard my laundry room door open and some loud noises. I went into panic mode. The kids were on the bus, Daddy was in Omaha, and Mom was in Beatrice, so it couldn't have been any of them. My first thought was "Holy crap, there is a robber in my house and I'm going to die." I looked around the foyer for something that I could possibly defend myself with. I saw a gun leaning up against the end-table. (There are guns laying around everywhere in my house, we call it the "Home and Farm Protection System".) I grabbed the gun, but then another thought popped into my head... I had not shot a gun since my Riflery class in 5th grade. I quickly pushed this thought away and peaked around the corner into the family room. I couldn't see anyone, but I could still hear the noises. I was really starting to get freaked out. I crawled into the family room, praying that I didn't accidentally fire the gun. I was pretty sure that the safety was on, but who knows. I crawled all the way into the beginning of our dining room. I could still hear noises. I sat hiding behind our breakfast bar for a while. I was praying and praying for protection and bravery. Finally, I gathered the courage to peak above the counter and see who the heck was in my house. As the kitchen came into view, I realized that all of my freaking out was in vain. It was just the dumb dog. I stood up and scolded Reagan. I had forgotten that he can open our doors.

I must have looked fairly childish, telling a dog that he scared the crap out of me. Not only did he scare me, but his large St. Bernard paws were muddy and left a trail of mud on our white tile floors, that I had just mopped, from the laundry room into the kitchen. I was so angry at that dog. I put the gun down on the counter, and then realized that it was a very good thing that there wasn't a robber in my house. The gun that I had grabbed was my brother's old BB gun. In the words of Rudy, "That thing ain't gonna kill nothin' fool!" I looked up at the clock. 7:35. I grabbed my backpack and track bag and rushed out the door. Thankfully, I didn't have to stop for gas, and there were no cops on the spur. Ugh. I'm turning into my mother.