The Writing Mamas Daily Blog
Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.
And for that, you are a goddess.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Snack Bar
The neighbors across the street were receiving appliances from Sears. I asked for the box the stove came in. Then I dragged it into the garage. With a box cutter I cut a door, a round window and the upper three lines of a rectangle.
Later, I invited my daughter and son to decorate it. She painted one side pale blue, and wrote “Natalia’s crib” over the front door (too much hip-hop, I’m afraid.) My two-year old son scribbled.
A few days later my daughter initiated the effort to drag this box up into the living room. Not much action around the crib for a few days. Then one Saturday morning while I puttered around, I heard them talking. I peeked in. I watched as my son knocked on the rectangular pane. It came flying down.
“Yes, sir, what would you like?” asked my daughter.
My son placed two pennies on the counter and asked for candy.
“Here you go, sir, and come back soon to the snack bar.” The she folds the counter in, and my son knocks again. POW! The pane comes flying down. A little rough for my frayed nerves, but the kids are working it out.
Later, I hear my daughter shrieking unimaginably loud (the neighbors and passerby could have heard her easily), “GET OUT OF THAT SNACK BAR,” as she careens into the living room. Then some giggling. A minute passes. Some shuffling.
“GET OUT OF THAT SNACK BAR.”
I peek into the living room.
“Ah. . . are you sure that’s okay what you're doing?” I ask my daughter lamely.
“He likes it,” she says.
I look over and sure enough he’s peering out the round window from inside the box.
“GET OUT OF THAT SNACK BAR,” my daughter shrieks again. Giggles and scuffling inside.
Now my daughter uses the snack bar as a tool to comfort her brother. “Want to play snack bar?”
“Yeah!”
“Okay, after you put your underwear and pants and shirt on, we’ll play snack bar.”
It doesn’t come naturally to me to stay out of their affairs, but it’s worth the effort.
By Vicki Inglis
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Later, I invited my daughter and son to decorate it. She painted one side pale blue, and wrote “Natalia’s crib” over the front door (too much hip-hop, I’m afraid.) My two-year old son scribbled.
A few days later my daughter initiated the effort to drag this box up into the living room. Not much action around the crib for a few days. Then one Saturday morning while I puttered around, I heard them talking. I peeked in. I watched as my son knocked on the rectangular pane. It came flying down.
“Yes, sir, what would you like?” asked my daughter.
My son placed two pennies on the counter and asked for candy.
“Here you go, sir, and come back soon to the snack bar.” The she folds the counter in, and my son knocks again. POW! The pane comes flying down. A little rough for my frayed nerves, but the kids are working it out.
Later, I hear my daughter shrieking unimaginably loud (the neighbors and passerby could have heard her easily), “GET OUT OF THAT SNACK BAR,” as she careens into the living room. Then some giggling. A minute passes. Some shuffling.
“GET OUT OF THAT SNACK BAR.”
I peek into the living room.
“Ah. . . are you sure that’s okay what you're doing?” I ask my daughter lamely.
“He likes it,” she says.
I look over and sure enough he’s peering out the round window from inside the box.
“GET OUT OF THAT SNACK BAR,” my daughter shrieks again. Giggles and scuffling inside.
Now my daughter uses the snack bar as a tool to comfort her brother. “Want to play snack bar?”
“Yeah!”
“Okay, after you put your underwear and pants and shirt on, we’ll play snack bar.”
It doesn’t come naturally to me to stay out of their affairs, but it’s worth the effort.
By Vicki Inglis
Labels: Vicki Inglis
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