She Sells Seashells

The water in the bathroom has been running.  For far too long.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years as a mother, running water is NEVER good.  Nothing good has ever come from a faucet continuously flowing.

“WHAT are you DOING in there?!” I scream.  I do not know which kid is the offender yet, so I do not attach a name to the question.  When my kids are up to no good, they tend to immediately know I will be asking questions, so the guilty party usually answers quickly.  No answers leads to an investigation and usually a cease and desist on any and all activity.  Answers, if carefully constructed, may throw me off their scent and leave them to destroy in peace.

“Oh, nothing.”  It’s Allie.  It’s even worse than I thought.  “I’m just filling up this jar with water.  Then I’m going to fill it with seashells and bring it down to your bedroom to make your room smell like the sea.”

The smart girl knows that if she puts the seashells back into water, they will create a stench that will never leave my house.  “Please don’t,” I beg.  I don’t even try to come up with a nice way to shoot down her idea that she has obviously put so much thought into.  Just, no.

She looks dejected.  “Okay,” she says miserably, while she dumps the water back down the drain while carefully collecting the shells back up.  “But….Do you still heart the sea?”

“Yes, baby.  I still heart the sea.”

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