“Okay, guys, who’s going to help me make the beef stew for dinner?”
“Not me.”
“Not me.”
“This reminds me of a story about The Little Red Hen.”
“This reminds me,” says Irene, “of a story about a girl with nothing to do with her brother.”
Touché.
***
Mary is bouncing in her high chair
As I hand Colum and Irene a bowl of grapes.
“Make sure you don’t let Mary have any grapes,” I warn.
“They are the perfect size and shape to get caught in her windpipe and to stop her from breathing.
Even toddlers need them cut in half.”
“Right, ” says Colum.
“That would make a baby die. Well, first they would choke and then they would die.
Isn’t that right, Mom? They would choke first and then die?”
“Uh, I guess that’s right.”
God forbid we leave out a step.
I pick up the plate of orange peels
And step over the pile of kids’ clothes, mini dinosaurs and sports cards.
“I’m just going to tidy up and then we’ll pick up Colum from the school bus and check out a new park.”
Irene looks at me.
“But when are we going to go to the sabanah?”
” …. “
I realize that Zabumafu is on TV.
“Do you mean the savannah? The African savannah?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“Well, I don’t know, sweetie. I’ve never even been to the savannah. It’s far away across the world.”
Looking at me and batting her eyelashes,
“Pleeeeeease.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“I don’t want that, you know,
peanut butter on my toast.
Just jam.”
Her right shoulder lifted to meet her ear in a half-way shrug.
“And, you know, don’t give me so many, you know,
little pieces like before.”
Hands raised palm-side up.
Surely I can get it right this time.
How hard can it be?
You know?
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Themocracy