Mother’s Helper

Mother could be very hard to please. I can remember long before I was old enough to start start school, I noticed the cat pooped in the baby bed. Being the helpful industrious type, I decided to be a big girl take care of it myself, of course, I couldn’t take a chance on touching it, so I hurried in the kitchen and got Mother’s cooking tongs. Mother was unfailingly selfish about sharing her kitchen implements, as I’d learned to my sorrow when she found her rolling pin and mixing bowls in the sandpile.

This was different. I was helping!Even though I’d only been able to get my hands on them a few times, I expertly tonged up the poop and dropped it in the commode, returning the handy tongs to the kitchen drawer.

All would have been well, had I not needed praise. I called Mother to see the poop floating in the toilet and told her how I’d helped her.

She hit the ceiling. “You used my kitchen tongs to pick up cat stuff! Where are they?” Proud of myself, I assured her I’d put them back in the drawer where I’d found them.

She was impossible to please. She paddled my fanny and sent me on my way. Life is hard!

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