Once upon a time, a totally awesome Mama had two little boys. Heaven looked down on her and said, "That Mama needs help," so they sent her an angel. When the angel was all done being a kleptomaniac, she was very helpful.
Lefty and The Precious were 14 months and two-and-a-half years old respectively when the angel came. She was so tiny with such pale skin and dark hair and big eyes that she looked like a china doll, and that name stuck.
Angel Doll absorbed information as quickly as she could, to fit herself to fulfill her heaven-sent mission to be my helper. She thoroughly examined everything I owned by stealing, touching, squishing, tasting, squeezing, shaking, stretching, tearing, and stomping. Or, as in the case of her 1-year-old 10x13 portrait, folding.
The Precious took good care of Angel Doll, so much so that she would stand in her crib when she woke up and call for HIM, not me, her own Mama. Angel Doll and The Precious were inseparable until Angel Doll turned three and became independent of The Precious. This angered The Precious, whose wrath remains on her to this day.
Now Angel Doll is big enough to steal my clothes, which is a small price to pay for someone who cooks our breakfast, bakes homemade bread, makes me pies, builds me bead jewelry, quilts lovely throws, cleans the house, rubs my shoulders, buys me popcorn at Jeremy Renner movies, sews escapee buttons back on Hunneypunkin's jacket, and looks like a cherub while she's at it.
I'm unsure how heaven gauged me worthy of such an angel, but I'm certain that if everyone on earth had their own angel doll, there would be peace on earth, and sugar would be good for you.
No comments:
Post a Comment