But there were days, days when her darling daughters found it impossible to get along. They would fight about forks and magic wands, who got to sit nearest the youngest darling at that scratched table, who got to swing on the spinniest swing, who got to measure the flour for the homemade cookies, who got to use the powder room first. There were days when the woman was pulled in so many different directions at once she felt as if her sanity would be severed beyond repair. There were days when the woman's cupboards were bare, yet she couldn't manage to get herself and her children showered and ready for market before the youngest darling needed to be settled in for a nap. Those days the woman relied on peanut butter and jelly spread over buns verging on moldy. There were many days when huge puddles were found escaping into the hallway in front of the bathroom from the darling's bath time antics, days when entire gallons of milk were dropped above the obstacle course of shoes at the back door, days when no matter how hard the woman worked, her beloved home spiraled downward into a vortex of chaos and whining.
It was on those days that the wrinkled woman felt an overwhelming desire to escape. Her king sized bed and body pillow beckoned her from the crunchy cereal covered floor when the dustpan was nowhere to be found. The quiet guest cottage (camper) in her private backyard seemed to constantly whisper, "Peace. Peace. My peace I offer you. Peace with Cottage Living magazines, a gentle breeze, and peanut butter eaten in secrecy." The woman, for the most part, was able to resist these temptations, for she knew that her forgiving husband would soon return from a long day of bread-winning and rescue her from the unending barrage of questions and demands, giving her a chance to breath. Although more difficult, the woman tried to remember to count her blessings on even these most stressful of days.