never grow up

The scene.


I'm at the kitchen counter bare-footed-french-toe-nail-sporting (my mother's day gift I collected just this week) armed with a sorry excuse for a knife. Attempting to chop greens & other salad fixings. This always congers memories of Tanzania for me. When Bibi Mary & I would bleach & prepare the fresh fruits & veggies. Bonding. Laughing. Mostly at my sorry Swahili. Or Jonathan's! It's a sweet memory.


But yesterday, I was enjoying some much needed alone time. Just me, my cute toes, the salad & my thoughts.


Didn't last long.


In bounces Bristel. I don't pay much attention. I'm still relishing my silent moment.


Through the fog I start to hear some whimpering. The getting into trouble kind. Not the hurting kind.


At first I ignore. But I'm a sucker for the mommy-guilt factor so I give a half-hearted,


"What's the prob, hun?"


More whimpering.


I sigh (what's more annoyed than a sigh?) and turn.


There she stands. Bathing suit dripping. Blond curls sopping. Sun kissed & cute. In her arms she's holding (just barely) the pitcher of tea I recently filled to the brim & put in the fridge. Which evidently she can open. It's quite possible the pitcher weighs more than she does! Dripping wet!


Super Mommy (that'd be me) sweeps in to save the day. And the floor - having been recently mopped & glowed! I quickly place the pitcher in the midst of the salad stuff. We have a cozy (small) kitchen.


I'm reaching into the cupboard for a sippy cup. The princess one to be exact. Behind me she giggles first and then says,


"Shew"

::big dramatic sigh of relief::

"That sure was close, mama!"


I laugh too. It sure was. But this is exactly the kind of moment that prompts me to tell her she's not allowed to grow up! She must stay THREE forever! To which she always dimple giggles & insists she wants to grow up. And be a doctor. A Baby Trevy doctor!


Which is really cute. And sweet.


So I guess I should let her. I'm just glad I don't have to today.

::sigh::