Little Girl

“Heavenly Father…”

Oh wait a minute, I’m being called. She calls me because she needs a wee. I ask her if she needs my help. She says no. I leave the bathroom. She asks me to stay. She asks me if I need a wee. I say I don’t. She says I could try. We could wee together. I do a wee. We sing the weewee song. I wonder if other people know our song. Mums must know it. She says her wee was yellow. She asks about mine. I say yellow too. We wash our hands. She wants to stay and wash her’s for longer.

I leave the bathroom.

“Heavenly Father...”

Oh wait a minute, I’m being called. She needs me to turn the tap off. She asks me where the water comes from. I explain pipes. She asks where the pipes go next. I say they’re underground. I realise there’s stuff I don’t really know, or ask. She heads off to her room.

I put the kettle on.

“Heavenly Father...”

Oh wait a minute, I’m being called. She can’t make the microphone work. I show her the wire and the switch. The one I showed her yesterday. She asks me to sit on the bed and listen to her song. I don’t really want to. I listen to her song. Not sure what the lyrics are. I don’t think she minds. She says it is my turn. I really don’t want to. The microphone is wet.

I sing a song into the microphone. She likes my song.

“Heavenly Father, thank you for today...”

Oh wait a minute, I’m being called. She says she needs a plaster. I ask her why. I know it doesn’t matter. This will only end in her getting a plaster. She says her knee is bleeding. It’s not. She fell over. It was four months ago. I go get a plaster. She calls down the stairs. You’re not getting my plaster. I don’t call back. Sometimes it’s easier that way. I give her a plaster. I’m sorry about her sore knee. She gives her head-tilt. She’s thankful for the care. I suggest she plays with ponies. She plays with Barbies. I go down seven steps. She calls me.

I breathe. Or was it a sigh? She wants to know the pony’s name. I suggest a name. It’s the wrong name. She suggests a different name. It’s the right name.

I gather the washing from room to room. But not her room. I don’t want to disturb her. I head downstairs. Wet washing transferred to the dryer. Dry washing into the machine. I put the kettle on. I clear away the cereal boxes. I clear away the breakfast bowls. Someone has left their lunch behind. I unload the dishwasher. I re-load the dishwasher.

“Heavenly Father, thank you for today...”

She asks me what I’m doing. I said I’m talking to God and I’m cleaning the kitchen. She says she is so hungry. I ask her if she wants an orange. She doesn’t. I ask her if she wants toast. She doesn’t. I ask her what she wants. She doesn’t know. She suggests crisps. I say no. She says she’s so hungry. I say it’s not lunchtime. I suggest an orange. She says toast. I say please. She says please. She offers to help me. I breathe. Or was it a sigh? When she helps, it takes longer. I say of course. She drags the chair across the floor. She’s done this before. I hand her the bread. She pops it in the hole. We press the lever down. I put the kettle on. We wait for it to pop. Up it pops.

I put it on her plate. I reach for the butter. She says her can do it myself. She moves the knife over the toast. But not the butter. It doesn’t spread. She says my can’t do it. I say we’ll do it together.

She says I don’t love you mummy. I know what she means. She wants my shocked face with a follow-up tickle. I do my shocked face and the follow-up tickle. She leaves the kitchen with her plate. I make a cup of tea. I wonder if re-boiling does change the taste. I sweep the kitchen floor. I dustpan and brush the kitchen floor. I pick out a hair bobble. A Lego man. A marble. I put them on the side. I empty the black bag into the outside bin. I put out the recycling. The recycling bin needs squashing down. I wonder which days it gets picked up. I see a missed call from the school. One of them has left his lunch. One of them has bumped his head. I say I’ll bring the lunch. I spray the sugary kitchen table. I wonder about the solidity of Weetabix. I grab the bleach. I bleach the loo. I put the loo rolls in the bin. There’s no black bag. They’ve all gone. I put a make-shift carrier bag in the bin. The kids will all miss the bag. I make a mental shopping list. We need toothpaste. I should write it down. I breath.

Or was it a sigh?

“Heavenly Father, thank you for today…”

Silence. She doesn’t call me. Where is she? Why is it so quiet? I should check on her. No she will be fine. But it is quiet. I have a look in the lounge. She’s found her dummy. She’s hiding behind the curtain. She’s found the iPad. She’s locked out of it for seven minutes. I say she needs to ask to use the iPad. I remind her about her toast. She doesn’t want toast. She wants crisps. I wonder when the dummy will go. I tell myself I’ll make the call soon. I laugh at myself. No I won’t. It brings me peace. I mean her. It brings her peace. I don’t know where all the other dummies are. I’ll add two to the list. I need wipes too. I should do an on-line shop. What else am I getting? Black bags. I ask if she wants her bin lorry. She does want her bin lorry. I get her bin lorry. I gather washing from her room. I should have added it to that wash. I’ll stick it in the washing basket. What is that smell? It’s coming from the washing basket. I’ll do another wash later.

“Heavenly Father, thank you for today…”

Silence. She doesn’t call me. I grab my tea. It’s cold. I put it in the microwave.

“Heavenly Father, I’m sorry. I don’t think I remember how to pray”.

“That’s okay, precious daughter. I never sigh when you call my name. I love when you call my name. Even if you only get round to just calling my name. I also know your real name, not the name you’re called by. By the way, I made wee yellow. I know all the names of the ponies, real and plastic. I know where the water comes from, every-day water and living water. I always want to hear you sing. I sing over you. I delight in you. I know where you’re hurting. I care.
I’m with you in the every-day. In the mundane. I’m with you, even when you think you’re capable of doing life without me. Even when you can do it all by yourself. I’m just waiting for you to ask me. You can even ask me for crisps. I’m patient with you. I can soften hardened elements which need purifying in you. I can clear up the mess. I can feed you. Even when you don’t love me. Even when you’re silent towards me. I’m still here. I know where you’re hiding. Sometimes you lock me out. I know the code. I can wait. I know what you need. I am your peace.

One last thing, I made tea!”

Photo Credit: Her