“They must need more hands-on things to do,” the innocent Mommy of the Five Little Kiddies thought. Let the Hands-On Phase begin!

Mommy baked together with the Five Little Kiddies. They each took turns experimenting with the Bosch. Experimenting with Mommy’s nerves. The end result was a delicious chocolate cake. The end, end result was dripping batter, sticky fingers, dirty Mommy, and sugar-high Kiddies.

They also helped her cook. No, they didn’t actually cook. But she did let them pull up kitchen chairs. And then was somehow fenced in by the Five Little Kiddies, each elbowing their way through for the grand view of frying chicken cutlets. There were tears.

And then the baby started to cry. Holler. Mommy told the Five Little Kiddies to wait one minute — one minute! — while she ran to rescue the poor, poor baby from being smothered by Kiddie #4. But 60 seconds was enough time for Kiddie # 3 to spill the egg down the drain, mush the cornflake crumbs round and round, and pour oil into this mixture. It was also enough time for Kiddies #1 and #2 to dash to their room, where Mommy found them leaping on the boycotted beds.

So Mommy recalculated. She figured she must have some very sensory-seeking Kiddies. She ordered a tunnel from Ikea, and had a handyman affix two swings to the ceiling of her tiny playroom (which also functioned as a bedroom). They did exercises on a therapy ball, played with fidgets, danced to music, and wheelbarrow-walked across the house.

She provided lots of outlets for her lively brood’s energy. Energy she didn’t always have. And through it all, the Five Little Kiddies still jumped on the bed. She was bone tired, feeling as worn as the box springs of the battered mattress. She wondered if the Five Little Kiddies would ever grow up.

Well.

One day she overslept. She awoke to see the bright red digits on her clock face blinking at her. 7:30 AM. One-and-a-half hours of unsupervised mischief.

She bolted out of bed, tripped over the Clics strewn across the floor, and followed the path of strawberry yogurt snaking its way from the kitchen to the kids’ bedroom. There were one,two, three… four  Little Kiddies gleefully jumping on the bed. So enthralled by their activity, they didn’t notice her, or that one sister was absent.

Kiddie #1. The leader of the pack was missing. Missing!

Kiddie #1 must’ve jumped on the bed, bumped her head, and was now lying under the blankets in silent pain.

Mommy lifted the covers.

Kiddie #1 wasn’t there. She wasn’t under the bed, either.

Mommy found her in the playroom-bedroom-swingroom sorting and packing away the Legos and Magna tiles and toy cars the Five (Four?) Little Kiddies had scattered everywhere. Mommy stood, gaping at her daughter who was no longer a Kiddie, but a mature and responsible Little Girl.

Speechless, Mommy slowly reversed out of the room and turned back to her four remaining Kiddies.

One day there will be no more Kiddies jumping on the bed. So hey, she might as well look on now, laugh at their antics, and line the floor with pillows.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 780)