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| (Photo from www.super70s.com) |
Got your attention, didn’t I? It’s absolutely true- amazing things happen when I wear the white nightgown. Now, before your mind goes somewhere it shouldn’t, allow me to describe to your my white nightgown. Picture Little House on the Prairie- minus the ridiculous turtleneck collar and super long sleeves. Combine that with the softest cotton ever touched and you’ve got my nightgown. It’s not what twenty-something married ladies wear to bed. However, as you know already, amazing things happen when I wear this nightgown. My superhero side comes out. Perhaps I even channel the bravery of Laura when she rescued the horses from the flaming barn.
Just this morning, I woke up to cries of Emma (4). She is now strong and tall enough to open the backdoor and let the dogs in or out whenever they bark. Today, instead of her usual pitstop at my bedside, she went straight to releasing the dogs. That’s when the cries started. It’s ok, take a deep breath- she wasn’t trampled or anything. Somehow, the most precious Mother Goose toy was launched over the rails of the back porch and Judah assumed it was a game of fetch. He launched his agile body down the steps, grabbed the stuffed toy and sprinted to the backyard. Meanwhile the house was filled with the kind of screams that causes any sleepy slowness to flee and makes all moms tap into their inner olympic athlete. I arrived, in my white nightgown, at the back door, stepped onto the back porch in the frosty cold and could not see Mother Goose anywhere. Emergency action was necessary. I ran back inside, slipped on some shoes, grabbed the husband’s coat and rescued the goose from the jaws of Judah. Mother Goose survived another day with just a bit of mud on her back. Shew.
This is the stuff major motion pictures are made of.
The white nightgown was a participant in another fabulous night 6 years ago. A few weeks prior to this memorable night, we had acquired a chocolate lab that was forced to sleep in a kennel in the backyard temporarily. She usually complained about her accommodations for a few minutes, but would settle and sleep quietly through the night. This particular night though, she woke up with the most ferocious bark I have ever heard a lab produce. In my sleepy state, I thought it a good idea to go out and check on her. While opening the lock, I heard what sounded like hundreds of hooves running nearby. Since I live in Virginia, I assume the hooves belonged to deer rather than moose or gazelle. All the nighttime brilliance I could muster caused me to let the dog chase the hooves. In the dark, I was unable to see where they coming from or where they were going, so I made my first heroic move in the white nightgown. I got in the dog kennel and shut the gate. I placed my security from the thundering hooves in the hands-or paws- of my overweight and ADHD dog. While standing there in the moonlight of Franklin Avenue, I realized the whole world could now have the opportunity to check out of my white, cotton nightgown if they so wished. I had to wait for the dog to return so I could put her back in the kennel before I could go back inside. Never have I been so thankful for her overweightness before- she didn’t run far- just far enough to chase away the hundreds of hooves. Within a minute or two, she was back and ready to recover in her safe kennel. I quickly locked her up and sprinted back inside. A quick catch of my breath and I was back in bed. While in my white, cotton nightgown, I had avoided a stampede by the hooves running through my backyard that night.
There is no spiritual significance to this story, it's just funny.
The nightgown hasn’t failed me. It’s seen all sorts of action- puke, house cleaning, potential stampede, and recognizance from Judah. It’s possible the most accommodating and motivating outfit I own. You should get one too! They are for sale in the old lady section of your local department store. Get ready to fall in love with the softest cotton you’ve ever touched and to be amazed at the moments of strength you experience that night.
