Children are consistent in their inconsistency. |
Day 7 - Prompt: Under the bed Nanni’s face materialised over the banister, three steps up from the hallway. “Aren’t you coming with me, Mommy?” I had shooed her into going to bed with a firm but loving hand on her reluctant bottom. Even at six, she was an expert at squeezing extra minutes beyond her bed-time. I had just issued the times-up edict; prising the TV remote from a pleading hand. “Pet, just go on up, I’ll be there in a minute.” “Uh-uh, the stairs make a kweek, now.” Her face had that determined look that said I-will-not-budge. I knew it of old; my little daughter had the stubbornness that would shame a balking mule. Those old stairs did creak, on the fourth step and the tenth, in an eerie echo that missed a beat. I put down the duster that was giving a sweep-off-the-mess cleansing to the counter-top and gave my attention to more important things. First a reassuring hug, next a lift over the pesky step. Now the tickle as we went up five more, accompanied by satisfied wriggling and giggling from Nanni. Last, another lift and a kiss as she was hoisted onto the eleventh step. The inevitable accepted, her back quickly rounded the landing; her hand polishing the handrails as she climbed. I was as scrubbed up and ready to go as any surgeon on ‘Scrubs’; a sink full of dishes lay in wait of my skills. Mothers had to contend with factors that pampered surgeons on TV sitcoms never did, one being the-voice-from-above. Usually a ploy to either waste time or just gain attention, today there was a note of desperation in it. I wiped off the suds and dashed up the stairs, two to a stride. “Mommmmmmmmeeeeeeeeeee!” Impatience, fear, anguish, all nicely blended in that strident call for help. I found the room door wide open, a little figure dancing on the bed in frenzy so close to a crying jag that I skidded in without stopping. Nanni was clad only in pyjama top, the bottom discarded mid-way between bath and bed. Her beloved stuffed bunny was askew by the crumpled heap. “What’s wrong, darling?” An indignant hiccup and a half-sob was the only answer to my inane query. I sat down upon the bed and patted the space next to me; I had my arms full of a sobbing child in the next instant. A rambling tale of noises emerged; there were rustling noises - maybe a whisper or two - and certainly some cowardice on Bunniekins' part. I soothed and murmured; I promised and cajoled. A guarded compromise having been established, I managed to get the pyjama bottoms smoothed out and over plump waving legs. The comforter was drawn back; little persuasion was required for the now-angelic figure to dive in and be tucked up with a kiss. I then pretended to be a magician as exaggerated sweeping motions restored a frightened Bunniekins to his ‘mommy’; switching off all but the bedside reading light. All creatures of the night were solemnly banished with a ‘Rimmy-roo-ri-ra’ incantation as the drapes were swished open and shut the three times demanded by the ritual. All was satisfactory, the lids were half-closed and one little hand drew B'kins closer with a small sigh of contentment. I might even get out of reading her to sleep today. Brown eyes opened wide and turned full upon me like nougat searchlights, “Read me a story, Mommy.” I relegated thoughts of waiting chores to the stock-pile of things-that-must-wait-while-my-child-needs-me. “Which one will you have, dear? The girl who could not be woken up for a hundred years? Or the story of the girl who lost her slipper? ” Nanni had a way of re-naming all-time favourites according to how they impacted upon her mind. “No!” was the firm answer. “I want to listen to that one - the girl who found a Wolf in the Bed.” An imperious finger pointed at the familiar picture of a caped and hooded figure in red. So, my daughter settled down to her bed-time story, blissfully unaware of the contradiction in being fond of this gory bed-time tale; when just a few minutes ago the rustling of a discarded candy-wrapper had given her hysterical notions of Monsters under the Bed. Red Riding Hood it was. |