A Jen Too Many

Youngest Girl Child walked into the kitchen, where I was up to my wrists in meatloaf, and said, "There's stuff on the screen of the... The... Of the..." She paused to think. "The TV."

"Do you want to dust it?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yeah."

She probably wanted the feather duster, but she couldn't reach it and I didn't feel like stopping to wash my hands, so, "I know just what you need," I told her, and pointed under the sink. She opened the cupboard door and I gestured toward a dusting cloth. "The yellow thing."

Her fingertips brushed the yellow bottle of Clorox wipes. "This?"

"Sorry. Not that."

Her hand moved to the dusting cloth.

"Yes, that."

She pulled it out, looked at it speculatively, then up at me. "Do I need to put poison on this?"

Hmm, I thought. Maybe we're putting a little too much emphasis on the dangers of cleaning chemicals.

"No. You'll be fine. Just wipe the dust off."

I finished shaping the meatloaf, washed my hands, and went to check on her. She was concentrating on her work, leaning her weight into her hands as she rubbed the cloth over the TV screen and around the tops and sides. She sang softly to herself as she worked on the corners. She's started doing that more lately, singing a transcript about whatever she is doing, as she is doing it, the more so when she is concentrating on something she enjoys - playing with dolls, coloring, dusting the TV.

When it was done, she turned to me and smiled, expectant. "Look at the TV. Is it shiny?"

I nodded, "It sure is."

She nodded back, one sharp bob of her head, then put the dusting cloth away without being reminded.

"I'm going outside, Mommy!" she yelled, then slammed the door on her way into the backyard, making me cringe as every other door in the house rattled in response to the sudden pressure change. And then the only sound in the house was the hum of the computer fan, and the faded cries of a little girl, gleefully chasing a visiting pair of ducks around the lawn.