"I'm glad you moved here, Babci."
It was spoken softly by the little dark-haired girl descending my staircase. I was in back of her and almost missed the spontaneous words. Sophie's sincerity caught me by surprise.
"Sophie, I'm glad I moved up here too, to watch you and Hannah grow."
"You would have missed a lot."
"I know." Oh, dear heart, I know. Believe me, I know.
"Thank you, Babci, for having me for a birthday sleepover."
"My pleasure." My delight.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
March has suddenly morphed into early April and still the cold lingers. Sophie spent another delightful weekend sleepover and we raced to the car last night while blowing snow tickled our faces. At least Easter will be arriving soon with its message of renewal and redemption. I think I need both. I've been a bad girl.
Sophie and Hannah and their mommy had treated me to dinner out a few weeks ago to celebrate my birthday. I made the mistake of ordering grilled lamb. Ah, by the time our dinner plates arrived, both girls had scolded me into losing my appetite.
"Babci! You're going to eat LAMB? Poor baby lambs?! Aw, poor SNUGGLY, CUTE baby lambs?" Hannah, in between her chocolate milk and fresh rolls and butter, continued to fix me with a mother-superior glare which wilted the lettuce on my plate.
"I promise not to order lamb ever again, girls." Wink, wink. Nod, nod. When did kids get to be so politically correct?
Faced with their pleading looks and the knowledge of just how much those two shriveled lamb chops were costing, I opted for the economical solution. I ate the lamb.
Years ago, when their mommy was about their age, I was a member of a church folk choir aptly named "Lambs and Sinners". Some weeks, depending on how well we played and sang, we were the lambs; other weeks, the sinners. We took turns spreading the collective catholic guilt around based on our musical performance.
Yesterday, at another restaurant, I tried to swat a tiny fruit fly buzzing around my drink but missed. Good thing I missed. Sophie, the lone witness, delivered an incredulous stare while asking, "Babci, you weren't really trying to kill that fly, were you?!" Sigh. Foiled again.
You think I would have learned my lesson but it doesn't end there. While shopping for some household items at the same mall, Sophie grabbed my hand as I reached for the Windex. She nodded a firm 'no'. "It's bad for the environment, Babci." I passed.
Life's teachable moments. But aren't I the one who's supposed to be the teacher?
Ecological awareness in the youngest generation ...
Lambs = 2
Sinner = 0