Sobs of Joy

It was the of best time. It was the worst of time. She slammed her jeep door shut and shuffled up the slippery metal side ramp to her that led up her porch after work. A flash of white in the corner of her eye caught her attention, but she knew not to look directly at the wild cat in the shadows to frighten it further off on this dark night as she bent down and put her own dinner in it's plastic container on the porch. Everyone wanted something of her. She could see the warmth of the bright kitchen thought the window shades in the door, and paused, letting out a tired low sigh. Balancing her mail, her knives, and her nearly empty tea cup she reached for the door handle and hoped the calm scene before her would last when she entered the house. The handle would not turn, it was locked from the inside, so she pounded on the door. Then she kicked it. The kids had remembered to lock the door but forgot to turn on the porch light so she had to fumble in the cold dark for the keys hiding spot. Once her numb finger found it she walked back to her door and inserted the key into the knob just in time to have the door yanked open causing her to drop everything she had been vicariously balancing. "MOM'S HOME!", yells her oldest offspring, as he helps her scoop up the soggy mail. "Why didn't open the door for me?", she asks miffed. "I was doin something", is his answer. "The comfey chair, she notices, is pulled up close to the tv on the counter in the corner. "How was your day ?", he askes, ever the peacemaker. She is glad at least there is only one child in the room, when both her kids vie for her attention in the little time they have together and she is frazzled is when it is hard. "What is that smell?" The spaghetti she had made for her children's dinner before she left for work is now a hard black crust emitting a bad odor. At this point, hungry and exhausted she herself feels worse the residue on the bottom of her slow cooker. "Where's your little brother?", she asks, pulling a frozen veggie burger out of her freezer. "I love you mom. Up stairs." She puts the frozen patty on a cookie sheet and walks over to the her top oven and takes of the towel hanging on its door and tries to slide it in. The door will not close. The top lock is busted off. Her older son is back in front of the television already attention focused on it's screen, unaware of the volcano of rage building inside of her. In her mind she is picturing the culprit, worrying the lock handle back and forth, back and forth in his obsessive way until it snaps, and she snaps.
With all the energy of the suppressed anger left over from the stressful day, she bellows, "KID ONE YOU GET YOUR BUTT DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!"
As she listens to the sound of his feet run across the floor above her head she is thinking why not. Why not the expensive crystal viking thing on her mantel that she didn't like. Or the china jewerly box that only held bobby pins. Or any of the fradjile foo-foo stuff people seamed to think her liked or needed. Anything but her oven.
"Mom! You are home."
"WHAT THE HELL WHERE YOU THINKING BREAKING MY OVEN?"
He blinks, blue eyes wide, his mouth a perfect little o.
"Did you see the spit that just flew out of your mouth", he answers with a miming action as he distorts his face as if being hit slow motion by a wave of saliva.
When she let out a short laugh, the anxiety disappears from his face, but only to be replaced by a darker anger as she lunges toward him. Passion enciter, that is what he is.
"If you weren't so old, you'd just bend over and use the bottom oven."
Then he ran for his life.