"My Naughty Little Sister"

Tonight at dinner, over a pot of turkey and rice, Merry looked up with great expectation. "Can I tell Daddy about our day?" she asked with excitement. I felt all too ready to acquiesce. Of course she told Daddy about the epic part of the day, this morning when

I decided, through my dread, to carve up a turkey that finished baking at midnight last night. The well-browned, well-endowed fowl nestled in its mass of gulutunous juices. I covered my bases, cleaning off counters and sink and positioning Elspeth in her chair, equipping her with a long length of butcher paper and crayons. I retreived the electric knive from the shadowy dusty corners of an unused cabinet and set to.

I had not set to very long, however, before Elspeth got wind of my distracted, grease-covered state and completed her transformation into Grendel--no, actually, Grendel's mother. NO MERCY. She immediately scribbled on a newly painted wall and began tearing around the house. I rinsed my hands and disciplined her, and cleaned the wall, and then returned to the exasperating electrical cord and trembling turkey fat. Elspeth once again pounced.

She pushed a chair to the counter, helped herself to cake, unloaded a kitchen cabinet, ran laps around the house with chokables in her mouth, colored on the same wall again, stole more crayons. By this time I was scooping masses of indistiguishable gook, along with the turkey carcass, into a pot for stewing. The kitchen resembled a war zone, and I was the defeated, dirty, grumpy general.

Let me wrap up this entry with the following picture: Martin leaves for the night, for a meeting and reading. Merry quietly brushes Elspeth's teeth, reads her books, and I enter a darkened room from a much-needed break to find Merry rocking Elspeth on her lap, singing The Water Is Wide.

Yes, this last scene really happened. Bless the Merry-girl, and her naughty little sister, too.