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Judy Simpson

Short Stories
- Deja Vu
- Victims
- Treasures and Pleasures
- Spring Blossoms
- Where Are The Children?
- Where Are The Children?

Poems
- Dreamwalk
- The Kiss

Spring Blossoms
         by Judy Simpson
Page 4 of 4

Dressing my son was so simple, consisting mainly in keeping him clean; his pants were either Levis, navy or beige, coordinating with striped tops, white tennis shoes....

"Namami," I suddenly hear and feel Ariella tugging at my sleeve, "we're home!"

"So we are, so we are," I mumble waking up from a far away time, trying to extricate myself from the constraints of the Benz's seat belts.

In a little while, the family comes together, everyone ready to sit down to eat dinner.

"Namami, you make the best food ever!" Ariella says with her enchanting lisp. By now, I know better, she is buttering me up for the next day's surprise. Therefore, I rely on the Bean as my best and most honest food tester.

"Tsair, tsair!" she says, asking to be promptly seated. Once she is in "tsair" and has her plate and "pom-pom", she starts eating. "Yummy!" she says every so often, accompanying the word with placing her hands on her tummy.

The other one, keeps poking her fork in almost every piece of food on her plate, thinking that it may prove she ate something, or hoping that food may disappear by magic. At least, she drinks her milk and I think that is more than nothing. With a wink in her eye, her mother gives her a thick cream cheese bagel, and as expected, she eats all the cream cheese.

"There ought to be some other nutritious white colored food she could eat," I think, then reconcile myself that she looks healthy enough and I should leave matters in her mommy's hands. This is, after all, one of the wonderful things about being a grandparent - you can stop worrying about such matters.

At seven thirty, both girls have their "tub time" and after the "Shampoo Battle", they are finally ready to go to bed, smelling like fresh spring blossoms.

Ariella goes to her own room, while the Bean cries herself into her parents' sleigh bed.

I tell Ariella a good night story "about when I was little", as those stories are in high demand during this visit, then kiss her good night and go downstairs, where I happily fall into my own bed, exhausted and reenergized at the same time.


You can email the author of this story at junegem946@aol.com


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