steepleIt was late spring.  The trees were budding and the kids were eager to get out of school.  The morning fog was just starting to lift as Max and I dropped my older two off at school.   At the end of the narrow small town road is an old Methodist church.  We must have passed this church a hundred times, at least twice  a day.  Max was almost two years old and curiosity was kicking in big time, as evidenced by the cordless phone in pieces in my living room and the missing battery cover for the tv remote control.  This morning, it was the old church that caught her attention as we sat at the red light.

“Mommy!  Look!”

“What, babydoll?”

“Look at dat wocketship!”  Being in the front seat with her directly behind me, I had no idea where she was looking.


“Dat wocketship.  On dat house.”

Still no clue.  So, as all moms do when we can’t interpret the baby babble, I say  “Uh huh, I see that.”

Well since Mom was obviously blind, she directed her babble to the offending wocketship.

“Hey dere, wocketship,” she says suddenly talking to the wocketship in the syrupy-sweet way grown-ups talk to babies (for some reason.  Why the heck is that?)  “Silly wocketship.  You get off dat house!  You too bigga dat house!  You gonna break dat house, wocketship!”

She had asked nicely, but the wocketship did not move.  So, like a parent, her tone and tactic changed.

“Hey!  Wocketship!  Get offa dat house right NOW!”

Still nothing.  That wocketship just stayed where it was, mocking the offended toddler.  She sat in her car seat grumbling all the way home.  “That bad wocketship gonna break dat house.  It needa get offa dere…….”

That stubborn steeple remained on top of that old brick church despite Max’s best efforts to coax it down.


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