A Tattered Picture Book

I'm going to apologize, in advance, for posting a long rhyme instead of a short one. But this rhyme has been awhile in the making. The event that inspired the rhyme happened in July. The illustrations were noodled a few weeks ago (during a lull between phone calls). It was only recently I started thinking about the rhyme itself. This seems to happen every time Great Auntie enters the picture.

She (like me) is NOT a woman of few words.

Now. Let me tell you the story behind "A Tattered Picture Book".

One morning in July, I made my weekly trek to the laundromat. It was great timing on my part – I only had to compete with 1 person for the large capacity washing machines. Having once washed loads of dirty diapers and kids' clothing, I graciously conceded the biggest machines to the young mother who was accompanied by her small daughter and infant-in-stroller (along with SEVERAL baskets of dirty laundry).

While Young Mom took care of the dirty clothes, her little daughter took care of the baby. The girl had a stack of picture books and was reading the books – one by one – to her little brother. The baby did what babies do: kicked his legs and waved his arms ... chortled and gurgled ... stuck his fist in his mouth ... hollered occasionally ... and grabbed at whatever toy was close enough for his tiny fingers to grab hold of and stick in his mouth or wave in the air.

Big Sister (who looked as if she might be only 5 or 6), would periodically hold the book up close to the baby's face and then pull it away the minute Baby decided the book might be good to grab and gnaw upon. Once in awhile, she'd put the book down and stick her head into the carriage (and make big sister goo-goo noises at the baby to make him laugh).

Mom proved what kids have always suspected (but only Mothers know for sure) – she had 3 eyes. Two kept an eagle eye on the kids and this strange old woman (me, the only other person in the laundromat). The third eye was for the laundry which, as any Mother could tell you after having at least 1 child in diapers (and most certainly after 2), can be done with one eye closed and/or in one's sleep.

Finally, the little girl noticed me and showed me the book she was reading. So we talked for a little bit. And all the while, Big Sister kept 1 eye on the baby and 1 eye on me (i.e., early training in case 1 day she needs 3 eyes). During our conversation, Baby kept his eyes on his big sister (while doing what babies always do: smiled, chortled, gurgled, hollered, kicked, etc).

Then I said to the little girl, "Oh my. That baby certainly loves you and knows you love him!"

Big Sister calmly replied, "I know. And do you know who else loves the baby?"

I smiled a little, anticipating the answer of "Mommy", "Daddy", "Grandpa", "Grandma" or perhaps even "Great Auntie" (or the family pet). So I responded with, "No. Who else loves the baby?"

She gazed at me for a moment and in that matter-of-fact tone (used only by small children who believe certain adults are in dire need of being taught some wisdom), Big Sister said,

"God loves the baby."

There's not much that can make me speechless. I thought for a few seconds as the little girl looked at me, waiting for my reply. And for once, I found myself capable of being a woman of few words:

"I know, honey. God loves the baby as much as God loves you."

The little girl dismissed me with a sweet smile and went back to reading a picture book to her baby brother.

As for the Young Mother of this story? Well, she had never stopped keeping watch over her beloved children – and the laundry still got done.