Travel-Sized Whistle Blower

Watch it!

You don’t break rules in our house.

You’ve heard of that tiny, small voice that whispers correction?

Well, it’s here.

And it isn’t that small.

Maybe I should explain . . .

Our granddaughter, aged 22 months, lives with us.

She is tall for her age.

Strong.

Hazel-eyed.

Curly-haired.

And very, very excited about having things ‘just so’.

Doors left open must be shut.

In fact, if one is so foolish as to leave a cupboard door open, a small tornado will emerge from the bowels of the house to slam said door.

Even if one is still using it.

In the high heat of the summer, propping the front and back doors open for extra ventilation requires permission, in triplicate, and a signed order by the Pope.

And many, many repetitions of “No, Sweetie, Gramma wants it left open!”

Sigh.

Bodily releases of tiny bits of air (ie: burps, sneezes, coughs, farts) though they are extremely funny, are to be immediately followed by a firmly-stated excuse-all.

Or a small, insistent person will appear at your elbow. “‘Scuse me, Grampa! ‘Scuse me!”

Preparation for mealtime prayer is to be strictly followed.

Even if one isn’t technically in the room.

The business portion of our kitchen/dining room is separated from the eating portion by an island.

Easily seen past.

If one is in that area, and no matter what one is doing, one is expected to participate.

“Gramma! Prayers! Fowd arms!”

Yesterday, my daughter and I were bike-riding.

With a small person in the trailer behind us.

Something we do . . . often.

My daughter had, unthinkingly, done her hair on top of her head.

Totally unsuited to the actual wearing of a helmet.

She opted to leave her headgear at home.

Big mistake.

It was the longest ride of our lives.

Because every few seconds, a little voice from the rear would call out, “Mama! Hemit!” or “Hemit, Mama!” or “Hemit! Hemit! Hemit!”

Ad infinitum.

The point of my story?

Be careful what you teach your kids.

They may hold you to it.