Getting Out of Bed by Stevie Turner

Writing Wranglers and Warriors
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Stevie Turner
Posted by Stevie Turner

For all of you living with stroppy teenagers, I thought I’d tell you of the time back in 1995 when my then 13 year old son Leon was at his worst…

Leon never wanted to get out of bed in the mornings.  On school days it was the devil of a job getting him out of the door.  He would lie in bed later and later.  All the shouting and cajoling had no effect.

It got to the stage where my husband had to physically lift him out of bed and put him in the car, still in his pyjamas.  He would then get dressed in the car as my husband drove him to school.  He would have had no breakfast, as he had refused to get out of bed.

This carried on for some months, until I returned to work.  I made an arrangement with another mother that my husband would take their daughter to school along with Leon, and she would bring Leon home at the end of the day, where my mum would be waiting for him.

On the evening before I went back to work I warned Leon that we would be taking one of his female classmates to school, and that he needed to get out of bed earlier in order to get dressed.  Did it work?  No… it did not.

There was Leon sitting half asleep in the car in his pyjamas, and a dainty teenage girl sitting on the back seat trying not to grin.  Of course he now couldn’t get dressed because the girl was watching, and so he turned up for school in his pyjamas.  He had to run into the boys’ toilets, get dressed, and then bring his pyjamas out to my husband who was waiting in the car.

Funnily enough that was the first and last time he ever went to school in his PJ’s, and he never had any trouble getting out of bed after that.  Now I have to laugh when he complains that his own teenage daughter won’t get out of bed in the mornings!



Stevie Turner works part-time as a medical secretary in a busy NHS hospital, and writes suspense, women’s fiction, and humorous novels in her spare time. She won a New Apple Book Award in 2014 and a Readers’ Favorite Gold Award in 2015 for her book ‘A House Without Windows’, and one of her short stories was published in the Creative Writing Institute’s 2016 anthology ‘Explain!’.

Stevie lives in the East of England, and is married with two sons and four grandchildren. She has also branched out into the world of audio books, screenplays, and translations. Most of her novels are now available as audio books, and one screenplay, ‘For the Sake of a Child’, won a silver award in the Spring 2017 Depth of Field International Film Festival. It is now being read by a New York media production company.

Stevie can be contacted at the following email address:

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Figure Skating in Your Pajamas

This post by Jennifer Flaten

Fall is here and winter is just around the corner. In our house, the cooler nights mean footie pajamas, well at least for the little kids. While I no longer wear footie pajamas, I fondly remember my footie pjs from my younger days, especially since they got me into quite a bit of trouble.

Now-a-days the bottom of the pajama feet are coated with a non-skid coating to keep little ones from slipping, but back when I was little the bottom of the foot was a nice slick plastic coating.

It didn’t take me long to figure out that if I took a running start those slick bottoms would let me glide across our carpet. For several nights, I entertained myself by gliding around the house, pretending I was an Olympic figure skater.

While gliding was fun, I thirsted for more speed. Soon I was racing down the hall towards my bedroom only to jump and slide the last few feet. Much to my disappointment, I could never slide more than a foot or two before coming to a dead halt.

One day it dawned on me that what I needed was a little lubrication to make me slide farther. I immediately headed for the kitchen, where I took a stick of margarine from the fridge and proceeded to grease the bottom of my footies up.

butter (Photo credit: misterbisson)

Wow! What a difference I could go an extra five feet with my newly oiled feet. For the next several nights before bed, I would apply a liberal application of “lube” to the bottom of my pajamas and spend a few thrilling minutes whooshing down the hall to my room.

I don’t know how many sticks of margarine I used up that winter before I was caught, but I was caught. One night my mom saw me glide down the hall and inquired how I managed to get so far. Proud of my ingenuity I told her exactly how I got such distance.

For a moment, my mother was speechless, and then she told me in no uncertain terms that I was never, ever to do that again. I think that winter is the last time I wore footie pajamas.

What crazy thing did you do as a kid?

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