Goodnight, Sunday Morning

Goodnight, Sunday Morning

Mary slept in on Sunday, the way she loved. When she finally sat up, something felt wiggly and warm on her ears. Her green socks! And her slippers were perched on Turtle's shell like a little hat. "Turtle," she whispered, "something strange is going on."

She scooped up Turtle and tiptoed into the hallway. Every picture hung upside down. Grandma's smile was a frown. Green tape arrows pointed away from the kitchen, where breakfast smells were floating. "Arrows that point the wrong way," Mary said slowly. "That's a clue."

In the kitchen, every chair faced the wall. Dink stood by the sink and yawned a big pretend yawn. "Goodnight, Mary!" he said. He held out a tiny plate with one chocolate cookie on it. "Dessert first, of course."

Mary nibbled the cookie and narrowed her eyes. "Dad, what is going on?" Dink frowned a very pretend frown. "Nothing at all. Today is totally normal and extremely boring." But his mustache twitched, like a giggle was hiding under it.

Dink opened the back door, and the three of them went outside. Mary set Turtle on the grass. Turtle did not walk forward. He scooted backward, bump, bump, bump, right toward a cardboard box under the oak tree. Mary gasped. "Backward is the right way today!"

She put her hands on her hips. "Dad! I definitely do NOT want to see what is under that box!" Dink burst out laughing. "Then you absolutely must look right now!"

Mary lifted the box. There sat her new green mitt, filled with warm muffins. "This is the worst Sunday ever," she cheered, which meant the very best.

Dink tossed a blueberry muffin, and Mary caught it in her mitt. They picnicked on the grass together. Turtle nibbled a crumb, and a green tape arrow stuck to his shell pointed backward, toward home.