SweetSunday
12/09/01
Goodnight sweet sunday.
I’ll tuck you in gently.
A weeks worth of dreaming
I’ll bestow on your brow
Goodnight sweet sunday
I’ll pray for you tenderly
A basket of blessings
I’ll tuck under your pillow
Goodnight sweet sunday
I’ll sing to you softly
My love will watch over you
Sleep sweetly, my dove, now.
My mother actually never sang me lullabies. None that I can remember. And considering how awful her voice was, I’m rather glad. When I wasn’t so small that I’d crawl into my parents bed at night, nor so large as to be unafraid of bogey men, Mom would sweep me up in her arms, spin me a few times until I was dizzy and out of breath with laughing and then toss me into bed. Only once did she overtoss me and I rolled into the wall (and hit my nose… as usual). After calming down from my giggles, she’d simply, gruffly, kiss me on the forehead and say “Habba good dream, Joodiya “
What’s Worse?
So what’s worse? Going through wacked out cleaning frenzies where my goal is to throw out as much crap as possible, or not being able to throw out stuff because I’m a cheap bastard? My roommate just came in the room and witnessed the fact that I had about 14 tiny little hotel sized bottles of lotion, bath gel, and shampoo tipped upside down so that I could fill up my existing big bottles with the microscopic quantities of goo.
Oy veh.
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