"How Dear Muddah, How Dear Fadduh"

Today, I have to sift into my lighten up mode.



It has been a long time since I have committed to taking care of a young child.



I forgot that one has to repeat things more than twice. Re-do things or demonstrate at least three to four times or more. That do on throw clothes on the floor has to be repeated at least a thousand times. Do not jump on the bed has a strange sound to it because it is not heard nor understood by 8 year olds. Young children who are homesick and miss their bed start to look for a substitute nest to sleep in, I would too. There are now four possible places for my young granddaughter to sleep. I would like to say that sleeping with me is not an option because once I woke up with the heel of her little foot in my mouth.



Last night was a brutal night, she started in the sleeping room on the balcony, moved to the sofa in the living room; then, she dragged every blanket and pillow known to man to the chaise in my bedroom; finally, about 1:00 am I convinced her to sleep on the queen size AreoBed in the living room with the light on.



We only slept for a few hours because the alarm goes off at 5:30 am. I am so tried this morning. To top it all off, last night I did not do any of the night things I usually do. As I snoozed from exhaustion like a drunken derelict, I do remember saying to my granddaughter to sleep any where you want. She begged me to fix her lunch for today. I do remember saying, "make your own lunch." I do remember she asked, "Where are the lunch bags?" I answered, "in the pantry." Of course you know the next question, "Where in the pantry?’



"Mema you promised to go for a swim every evening after work." "When are we going?" Mema, "You lied." Through my now drunken like red eyes that much have looked like "cherries swimming in buttermilk." I said, "I tried, but I lied." I was so exhausted I could not even move. I even think I went to sleep with my clothes on. This little person kept asking me questions that I could not honestly answer. I don’t know what she said.



When I relunctantly got up at 5:30 am--still tried to the bone, all I could remember was Allen Sherman’s Camp Letter "Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh here I am at Camp Grenada." As it rang through my head, I realized that I have only had this child for two days. I have two more months to go. "How Dear Muddah, How Dear Fadduh am I going to do this?"