At church we are doing a “friendship week”. Everyone who is interested is given a secret family similar to theirs (in other words, some little old widow isn’t going to get stuck with us and our six kids) that they are to do nice things for all week (“nice things” usually meaning goodies). This is so wonderfully up my alley. First of all, I love having someone to bake for. It gives me a several days of making cookies and bread and other such delights. I love that.
I especially like Friendship Week because my love language is gifts. Oh man, do I love presents. They don’t have to be expensive presents. As a matter of fact, I don’t really care much for expensive presents. I really just want something tangible that says, “I care about you”; Something that I can hold in my hands that is proof that someone likes me. Mister understood that from the beginning without me even having to explain it. He is a stellar gift giver. He is forever bringing home flowers and little presents. I love it and I love him for doing it. Unfortunately there have been several lousy gift givers in my life that still don’t get it, but let’s just move along.
This morning as I was backing out of the garage I spied a gift bag next to the front door, meaning our secret family had struck again. I was so thrilled and excited that I jumped out of the car and ran to the porch to check it out.
Without putting the car in park. That’s how excited I was.
I still didn’t understand what I’d done even though I heard a loud boom. The loud boom of my car driving itself into the garage door. With my children inside.
Good gravy, woman. It’s just stuff! Relax!
But I love presents so.
If you are my secret person, thank you! I’m still super happy even though I spent the last hour hammering the dent out of my garage door.