AM I THE ONLY ONE … who thinks God has a sense of humor?

My family had just moved into our new home. The neighborhood had plenty of little boys for our 5 year-old son to play with and one little girl. The boys were always leaving her out of their games. I had no idea why this cute little child was so avoided, not only by the gang of boys, but also the adults. It didn’t take me long to learn though, and soon I was as guilty as everyone else.

This small child had the eyes of an eagle. She would spot me every single time I went into my backyard to hang the laundry out. In a flash, she would be by my side chattering away. She could talk faster and ask more questions than any living being. She would trail right along behind me, taking non-stop. By the time the clothes were hung and I had gotten myself back indoors my head was splitting and I was exhausted just from listening to the constant chatter.

We had moved to this bigger home in hopes of having a second child. After each encounter with Little Miss Chatterbox, I would think, “I can’t imagine how that mother stays sane. If I had a child like that I’d be sitting in the corner of a padded cell, weaving baskets, before the first week was up.”

I DID finally get pregnant and God decided that it would be absolutely hilarious to present me with a baby girl who would put Little Miss Chatterbox to shame. Of course, in the beginning I hadn’t yet realized that such a joke had been played.
Our tiny little girl was the perfect baby. She ate, slept, never fussed and seldom cried. THEN she learned to talk! Actually our daughter didn’t learn to talk, she learned to debate, lecture, and ask questions.

I remember one day in particular that she was tagging along behind my every step. We had dinner, the dishes were cleaned up and a nice, relaxing bubble bath was sounding awfully good to me. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, I made my escape to the bathroom.

I had no sooner eased my tired body down into the warm water, when she materialized, as if by magic. I interrupted the story she had launched into and said, “Heather, I’m awfully tired. I’d like to have a few minutes of quiet to relax. Whatever you need to tell me can wait until I’ve finished with my bath.”
That brought about several minutes of discussion because she felt that what she had to say could NOT wait. It was IMPORTANT and must be said right then. But I stood, or rather sat, firm and insisted that she leave the bathroom and I would talk with her when I finished.

I made my bath last as long as possible. The water got cold, my skin got wrinkly and I knew I had to go face the music, or rather the chatter. When I was wrapped in my warm robe and opened the bathroom door, there she was, sitting in the floor as close to the door as she could get.

With a sigh I said, “Ok, Heather, what was so important that you needed to tell me?”

She looked at me with a serious expression on her face and said, “Oh I don’t remember —- but I’m telling you right now, I’m not growing hair down there when I get old!”

She was so serious. I tried not to laugh and just said, “I’m sorry, but you won’t be able to stop it. It’s part of growing up.”

She drew herself up, clinched her little fists and announced, “Well, you just wait and see. THAT is not going to happen to me” and she stomped off to her room to sulk.

Right then and there I realized that the baby making gods had given me exactly the right Little Miss Chatterbox.

(The complete story of Little Miss Chatterbox can be found in Life Happens (My Story).  See our Books page.)

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Gram use’ta say

“Never talk to someone through a closed bathroom door.
They’re busy!!!”

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