Hosted by "Tracy" at "Mother May I," but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.
Just call me snap happy.
It’s just another ordinary day. The sort of day that is really no different from any other day, except that it isn’t.
“I am need.”
“What do you need dear?”
“I am need……….make a few invention that is never been made before.”
“Oh……that could be a bit tricky. What did you have in mind?”
“Yes for my new drink or maybe soup?”
I look at my son who does not drink soup and to date only drinks water and chocolate milk, if it is exactly the right temperature.
“Ah. How can I help?”
“I am get a bowl for my new invention.” I glance at the clock, two minutes home from school, three minutes until we leave for therapy.
“Maybe we should do this later, after therapy?”
“No. Get me.”
“Get you what dear?”
“No I am be get myself.” He flies to the fridge, a domestic appliance that is not on his radar. He heaves open the door to peer and mutter, “now let me see…..ah yes! Dat is what I am be needing.” I watch as he grabs the gallon container of milk. I do not believe he has ever held a container of milk before. He removes the cap, demonstrating superb fine motor skills and a heretofore unknown enthusiasm as he sloshes a cupful or two into a very large soup bowl. The fridge remains open as he selects orange juice and does likewise. He does not drink orange juice nor has he ever held a carton before. I watch mesmerized as he flies back and forth from fridge to counter adding mustard, ketchup, chocolate sauce and mayonnaise. He uses no protection. He uses no tools to avoid physical contact with any of the substances.
“What it is?”
“Dis fing dat I am using for my cook.”
“Ooo dat is right, gotta love dah mayo.” Be still my beating heart. These are condiments that have been un-nameable and untouchable. He does not wear gloves. “I fink it is be needing dah one more fing.”
“Indeed,” I sputter blanched.
“Ah! I am be having dah whipped cream.” With the dexterity of the finest chef de patisserie he flicks off the top, inverts the can and sprays six inches of piped cream, a floating island of wonderfulness. “Carry!”
“Um…..you be carry it to dah table for dah decorations.” I lift the soup bowl and bear it towards the dining room table, in the centre for all to admire his creation. “I am be get dah latest fing.” He skitters across the room brandishing a jar of Maraschino cherries. I watch as his digits dive into the red syrup to retrieve a single stalk with a plump fruit to plop into the pillow of cream. He grins hugely at his feat, “an dat my fine friends, is dah perfick!” I feel a prick in the corner of my eye, because I know that eyes lie and my vision is untrustworthy. My brain is too wormy to manage coherent speech as his dad arrives to whisk them away to therapy. “Quick mom!”
“I am need.”
“What do you need dear?”
“I am be take my ingredient soup drink to therapy, for Janis, so she can be dah lucky taster.” I pour and slop the soup, snap on the lid and pass it over. As the garage door slams shut I pause, lean against the counter and consider. I may be the middle of the day but it is definitely the middle of the night, a dream, unreal and surreal. My daughter appears, “aren’t yah gonna clear up that disgustin muck Mom?” I look at the counter, covered in disgusting muck. It is definitely mucky and there is a void in the middle where the container once was. I touch the muck, just to check that it is really wet, that it is real and it is.
p.s. If anyone doubts the dedication of therapists, I am happy to report that since Janis is such a jolly good egg, she did indeed sip the concoction. Her assessment was whilst it was not exactly to her taste it was a thoroughly powerful brew. Yeah Janis!