OCR Text |
Show Take time for kids and 'spires' grassroots 'rm-iirrft titildMV Copyright 1986 Becky Grass Johnson I impatiently took Miss Muffet by the hand and stomped down the stairs to get the dirty work over with. As I entered the kitchen, I froze in my tracks as I beheld the , biggest "spire" I'd ever seen in the house. My meat pie in the oven had boiled over and had indeed created a "big, BIG spire." The baby sat in her high chair watching the blazing inferno as nonchalantly as shen would a re-run of Little House on the Prarie. It took an entire box of baking soda and glass of water to put out the "spire." . L I try harder now to listen to what the kids are saying. At least if the three year-old tells me there is jj big, BIG spire in the kitchen, I" come running with a box of soda and the garden hose . . or an extra large kleenex. I plead guilty and I never thought I would do it. I don't listen to my kids like I should. I had all the intentions of b eing one of those mothers who carry on intelligent, two-way conversations with her preschoolers. But as my children chatter throughout the day about the shiny penny that was found on the driveway or ask for the fifth time why ants can climb walls, my head will automatically nod and I'll say, "Uh-huh, uh-huh." Meanwhile, I'm not really listening to their tale of how so-and-so punched another kid on the playground. I'm thinking about things like the nuclear disaster at Chernobyl or what we've got left in the refrigerator for supper. Their little voices simply become background music to my own selfish thoughts. And suddenly, she had to tell me something. "No you don't," I said. "You need to eat lunch." "AH right," she sniffed indignantly. in-dignantly. "But there's a spire in the kitchen." This was the same child who had a severe aversion to anything that crept, crawled or looked sneaky. She had called on Daddy several times in the middle of the night to squash the shadow she thought was a bug. Daddy is the official spider killer in the family and even I call on him from time to time. But if Daddy isn't home, then I'm the exterminator next in line. I looked at my watch. I just didn't have time. Not even enough time to grab a kleenex and send a spider to that big cobweb int he sky. I called reassuringly down the stairs that if she would eat her lunch and ignore the spider, he wouldn't charge or attack. I rolled the curling rod in my hair .when she once again appeared in the doorway. I asked, if she was through with her lunch. She shook her head. "It's a great BIG spire," she 1 exclaimed. By now I was out of patience I told her to get b ack to her 1 un-ch un-ch and I promised that as soon as I , brushed my teeth I'd track the horrid creature down and annihilate him. She wouldn't buy it and she shook her head. "It's a big, BIG spire." "But, you are a big girl. Can't you just step on it?" "To big," she said. by BECKI GRASS JOHNSON we've got a communication gap. It had been one of those mornings. You know, the kind where the phone rings every time you even look like you're thinking about getting in the shower. The Avon lady had dropped by and the baby had shredded an entire box of kleenexes and stuffed them in the heat vent of the living room. I finished seeing off the kin-dergartner kin-dergartner to the school bus and sat the two little girls down to eat some hot meat pies from the oven. I had half an hour to eat, brush my teeth, curl m y hair and put on my face before I had to be to a doctor's appointment. My meat pie would have to wait. I had just started to brush on my mascara when I saw my three year-old year-old from the corner of my eye. She stood hesitantly in the doorway. I reprimanded her and told her she'd better get right back up to the table and finish her lunch. She said |