TUESDAY’S CHILD IS FULL OF GRACE

By Marion Kelley Bullock

I grew up hearing the poem, Monday’s Child. If I remember correctly, Monday’s child is fair of face and Tuesday’s child is full of grace.

I may just forget that my mother said I was born on a Wednesday. I never liked that part of the poem. Wednesday’s child is full of woe. Imagine! I’m surprised anyone would ever admit to being born on a Wednesday. I certainly won’t.

If I’d realized the onus of such a distinction, I think I’d have held off being born until the next day. Well, they say hindsight is better than foresight. So I can’t attach too much blame.

Having begun my blog again last Tuesday, after a short hiatus, I find I need some accountability. Therefore, to the best of my ability, I pledge to myself, and to you, that I’ll blog each and every Tuesday, come rain or come shine. I’m sure you’ll find my output meaningful and exciting, about poems such as the aforementioned one, or cats, or my family, or someone else’s family.

I’ll rename myself Tuesday’s child and attribute to myself the line, “full of grace.”
There have been times I was graceful, but they’re few and far between. They don’t take place when I’m walking through the house. I have bruises to prove I bump into walls. “Oh, I was concentrating on the new novel I’m writing. I just didn’t see that doorframe,” I excuse myself. Another time, I fell out of bed. But it was because the doorbell rang early and my feet were tucked in. I jumped out, but my feet stayed in the bed. Only the right side of my face and my right thigh suffered bruises.

Another time, just as I was about to sit down in my office chair, my husband pulled it out to sit in it. Look—no chair!

Oops! I wasn’t supposed to tell that. Gotta go!