Do Maddy

 

. . . (A)nd a little child shall lead them.

                                                                                    -- Isaiah 11:6d

 

We were gathered around our daughter's crib. She had on her favorite lallow jammies and was hugging Blanky, Binky and her elephant, "Fop."

 

Because she likes to delay bedtime as long as humanly possible, we were finishing up a long conversation about kings, queens, princes and princesses.

 

"Is Daddy a king?" we asked her.

 

"Daddy's a king," she whispered.

 

"Is Neely a princess?"

 

"NeeNee's a princess."

 

"Is Eden a princess?"

 

"Beamo's a princess."

 

Then it was my turn. I decided to get cute, and make a little joke on my husband:

 

"Is Mommy the BOSS?"

 

Maddy looked left. She looked right. She looked left again. And then she shouted:

"MADDY'S the boss!"

 

You know? She's right.

 

Our boss has a Pebbles Flintstone vertical ponytail. She insists on wearing her ducky rubber boots with her Fourth of July skirt and University of Nebraska football jersey, size 2T. Hers is a fashion style that can only be described as "schizophrenic interdenominational."

 

She sits at the lunch table talking to her roast beef sandwich:

 

"Are you the meat?"

 

"Yeah!"

 

"Hi, meat, I'm Maddy."

 

"Who's eating me?"

 

"Maddy."

 

"OK!"

 

I mean . . . does YOUR boss talk to meat? Don't answer that; I probably have stock in your company.

 

Actually, she has very good boss skills. She has mastered the art of exaggerated nonverbal communication with an intimidating unibrow scowl if anyone should dare to give her any bad news, like there's no more Froot Loops.

 

She is very pro-active, as a boss should be. She is a do-er. She says she "do's the puzzles" and she loves to "do the piano." Her favorite thing is to go out on the driveway in her ducky boots after a rain, and "do the puddles."

 

The trouble is, there are things Mommy likes to "do," too. And it's hard, with a little one always there.

 

One day, I was trying to do a little work at the computer. It was a bad-hair day and I was struggling. For a while, Maddy was busy with her toys. But then she started clamoring for attention. She pulled open my desk drawer and knocked over the cup of paper clips. She tugged on the arm of the chair to get me to swivel around. She tried to grab the keyboard.

 

I confess that I literally turned my back on her, blocking her, and kept writing, because I was hoping to get SOMETHING done that day. Something "important."

 

OK, I tried to blow off my own daughter.

 

But like a good boss, she didn't yell. She didn't whine. She didn't cry.

 

She just said, "Mommy, don't do 'puter. Do Maddy."

 

I swiveled around. She beamed. I melted.

 

So I clocked out of "important" things and clocked in to motherhood once again. We put on the ducky boots and the winter gear and went out to the season's first snowfall. She sat on the sled and I pulled it a jillion times around the back yard. We followed bunny tracks and had a snowball fight and made a snowman, or at least a snow blob, with grapes for eyes, a carrot for a nose and a little slice of red pepper for a smile.

 

We laughed and fell down and afterwards we threw our wet mittens into the washer and she got to "do the buttons" to make it go and then we had cocoa and she took such a long nap that I got to "do the 'puter" anyway and it was a very good day after all.

 

I did something "important" . . . for both of us.

 

Little ones will do that: grab your attention, make you see what counts, and lead you to spend your time doing things that may seem small at the time, but have eternal significance. Really do.

 

We've all got to listen more to the little ones in our lives. So don't do your grown-up stuff so much. Do THEM. Let them be the boss. You'll both gain. Even if it doesn't involve ducky boots and talking to sandwiches, chances are, you'll like where they lead. †