There was a racket coming from the kitchen. Which was fine because I was in the lounge room.
Suddenly Tracey was at my side looking flustered.
“Seriously,” she said. “Do the kids even know your name?”
Taking this oh so subtle hint I went into the kitchen where Miss6 was having a rant.
“She’s lost them! She was playing with them and now I can’t find them. I can’t believe she’s lost them and doesn’t know where they are.”
I have this mental image of Miss6 when she’s older and married, of a husband who is constantly talked at but hears nothing. Like me when I’m around her.
Still the tirade of words went on. Like a Dr Seuss book, they were often the same words in a different order. Finally, she stood in front of Miss3, hands on her hips, and demanded, “Where are they? What have you done with the see-through bag and the bunny? Where did you put them?”
Miss3 bowed her head and walked over to me.
“Daddy, I sad.”
“I bet,” I sympathized. I turned to Miss6, “They’ve got to be around here somewhere. Have you looked in the bedrooms?”
“No,” said Miss6. Then she all but pointing at her little sister. “She doesn’t know where she’s put my little see-through bag and the bunny.”
I really felt at a disadvantage with this because I had no idea what this see-through bag and bunny even looked like. I also didn’t necessarily feel Miss6 wasn’t justified in feeling a bit miffed at Miss3, because Miss3 and Miss1 are always taking stuff from their older siblings and dumping it wherever.
Hoisting Miss3 on my hip, I joined in the search.
“Is this them?” I asked, picking up a pencil case. It had a see-through window on both sides.
“Oh, Daddy,” Miss6 admonished me. “That’s not them. That’s not a see-through bag and a little bunny.”
“Of course.” Stupid me.
Two minutes later, after I convinced Miss6 we could probably cover more ground if she stopped following me around glaring daggers at her sister and actually looked about, we had success.
“Here they are!” squealed Miss6, coming out with them clutched in her hands. I looked at them – a small organza bag and a rat like thing. They sure as heckfire weren’t what I was looking for.
It turns out they were on the floor under her pajamas.
“Yes, well now you’ve found them I think you have something to say to your little sister,” I told her in my best daddy voice.
“Why?” asked Miss6, marching up to me.
“Because you’ve been blaming her and it wasn’t her fault, obviously. She’s been feeling really sad. So what are you going to say to her now you’ve found them?”
Miss6 solemnly acknowledged all this with a nod of her head. Then she looked up to where Miss3 was still looking a little set upon.
“You’re welcome,” Miss6 told Miss3, and stomped off.
And again, I felt a little tinge of sympathy for her future husband.
When not typing away over here and checking his stats every two minutes,
Bruce Devereaux hangs out at his ‘BIG FAMILY little income’ Facebook Page.
’raising a family on little more than laughs’
Great – she can marry my 4yo son in 20 years or so … he has perfected the art of staring blankly when I am trying to get him to do something 😀
A match made in heaven 🙂 🙂 🙂