“A Perfect Day,” Ensign, Apr. 1982, 55
It could only happen at our house! This morning when I have just settled down to ironing, a friend calls—the one who likes to talk. By the time she hangs up, my iron is out of steam. I start to wash a load of levis, and remember I’m out of soap. The phone company calls to say I forgot to pay the bill. The hose to the vacuum is plugged, and I discover that someone has vacuumed more Tinkertoys than carpet. And the day is only half gone!
My Relief Society visiting teachers come, and for a few minutes I forget my troubles and let a bit of encouragement sneak in.
But first thing in the afternoon, our daughter has the sewing machine fouled up, and I struggle to hold my temper and patiently explain the complicated mechanism to her. Then our sons need a catcher for their baseball team, so I set the sprinkler on my flower bed and join the gang for a game. It looks like it might rain.
Back home, someone has spilled Kool-Aid where I stand; my feet stick to the floor.
In the evening, as I say family prayer, I somehow understand that the Lord has blessed us this day. We are, after all, safe and well. And a ray of peace warms my heart at bedtime when I discover a note our Johnny has left under my pillow. It is written in a beautiful childish scrawl. “Dear Mom. I love you very much. You are the very best mother in the whole wide world.”
I brush a tear from my eyes and swallow the lump in my throat. All is well. My day is complete. Ruth House, Lovell, Wyoming