Previous post
A quote: “There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.” ~~ Graham Greene
I’ll start with a story …
*******************************
There were broken lamps, muddy footprints, the endless parade of questions and kittens. She was a blur throughout the days, a whirling dervish of scabbed elbows and knobby knees.
There were too many times I was exhausted and exasperated, thinking “grow up! Grow up! GROW UP!”
And suddenly, too quickly, when I wasn’t looking – she did.
The house fell quiet. I yearned to walk down the hall to discover muddy footprints. Too long too quiet.
Until I was given another chance. The mini-she, whirling through my home and heart.
This time I slow down, dancing through the mud with her.
*******************************
Now, it’s your turn.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.featured image, Adobe Stock, standard license
Dupin says: I want to make mud pies, but Mommy wants me to stay clean. I’ll just walk around the edge of the puddles. I can wash my feet and all will be good.
Ring-a-round the rosies, A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down.
Oops! Sploosh!
Oh no! Mommy will be so mad. I wasn’t supposed to get the least bit muddy. Well, Mommy says, ‘In for a dime, in for a dollar.’ Might as well do it right.
She stood up on the slippery mud, steadied herself, and belly-flopped in the puddle.
Now for those mud pies.
Cameron says: Proper behavior, decorum at all times. Mom and dad were always keeping tabs on me to make sure I didn’t slip into mediocrity by acting like a child. No hair was out of place and no dirt dared soil my skin.
That’s why they always let me stay with Uncle Jerome for the summer. Yes, he a “country bumpkin” but he understood mom and dad’s desire to have the perfect child.
He waited until they were at least two miles out before he’d say “You know where the frogs are. Change into the other clothes and come back before sunset.”
Navig8r says: Daddy’s fishing hat concealed her princess’ tiara so she could be incognito outside the “castle” walls among the “commoners.”. Lots of polliwogs after the rain. Good sign, although last time they all grew up to be toads.
“How many frogs will I have to kiss to find a magical one?” she wondered.
Something larger stirred beneath the muddy surface of the water. A quick grab and it was hers.
“You’re not a frog. You’re a mud puppy. Oh well. Mud puppies make good pets.”
“I’m a salamander, your highness, and furthermore, I am a magic salamander. If you kiss me . . .”
Girls are supposed to be all squeamish and careful about their appearance, but when “dainty” got handed out, I must’ve missed the call. All through grade school my folks were always yelling at me to mind my manners, to make an effort to show some interest in my appearance and put some effort into mixing with the other girls at school and church. It never stuck.
When I was in fourth grade, I decided to do a gardening project in 4H. I was already helping Mom with the garden, so I might as well get credit for it.
Except now that the garden was mine, it wasn’t just going out and playing in the dirt any more. Suddenly Dad was sitting down with me and going through seed catalogs, planning what we’d be growing this year. When the seeds came in, I was the one who got to scoop potting soil into the cells of the starter trays and plant the tiny seeds, and to water them every day as late winter gave way to spring.
And then it was off to the feed store to buy peat moss to work into the soil. I was too little to run the tiller, but Dad insisted that I spread that moss across the ground ahead of him. And then I got to plant all those seeds, and transplant what we’d started indoors.
Now weeding and hoeing were daily chores, rather than something I might pitch in with now and then. And while I did have some guidance from Mom on harvesting, I was the one who got to weigh all our produce on the kitchen scales for my records. Sure, there was still quite a bit of stuff still in the garden when it was time to turn in my record books for the year, but a quick visit to the grocery store showed me that I’d already earned back several times the price of the seeds. And I’d learned just how good it could feel to see the work of my own hands on the table, or neatly stacked in the freezer for winter.
I was definitely going to have a gardening project again next year, and a food preservation project too. As much as I’d been doing on that, I might as well get credit for it.
4 Comments