A Thanksgiving Lesson from Alfalfa

Grandpa and I took our three little rascals to the Assinboine Park Zoo on what may have been the last summery Saturday for this year. The place has sure changed since our kids were little, and even more so from when I was. The cost of admission is higher even though the variety of animals is less, unless my memory fails. I remember black and brown bears, even a grizzly. I recall zebras and giraffes and gibbons. Relatively few primates seem to live there now. I thought the zookeepers might be interested in our three monkeys, but they declined my offer.

The perspective of a child is always fascinating. Four-year-old Buckwheat announced that his favorites were the bats. Which was interesting, because none of the rest of us saw any bats. The highlight for Spanky, not quite three, was catching a lady bug and carrying it in his hand most of the day. Meanwhile, seven-year-old Alfalfa’s best thing was the Polar playground. 

I think my favorite part was the butterfly garden, a chance to sit and relax amidst the sweet fragrance of the flowers (a definite step up from the scents offered by the animals). The butterflies fluttering by made me want to sit much longer than three rambunctious rascals allowed.

When we returned the boys to their parents, we stayed for the evening and I had the privilege of tucking Alfalfa into bed. As he said his prayers, I needed to bite my cheeks to keep from laughing out loud. He was so exhausted, he could barely squeak. But he wanted to thank Jesus for the good day we’d shared and found it necessary to name every animal he could remember seeing. As his voice got smaller, his pauses grew longer. “Thank you that we got to see the polar bears and the lions and tigers and camels and snow leopards and … kangaroos and monkeys… and butterflies and buffalo and eagle… and frogs and…chipmunks…and … a type of bunny…”

We said “amen” and kissed goodnight, but I think he was gone before my “I love you” even hit his ears. 

Alfalfa had just demonstrated a wonderful way to fall asleep, thankful for every detail of his day. 

When I lay me down to sleep, I’d love it if God sometimes chuckles. I want to fall into slumber rehearsing all the blessings of my day and feeling truly grateful for them—even on the ordinary days. My comfortable home, a hot shower, clothes to wear, books to read, food to eat, a job I enjoy, likable co-workers, freedom to live without fear, grandsons to snuggle, columns to write and readers to read them, a body that functions, a car that mostly works, soft mittens and warm slippers, a bottle of my favorite lotion, a cozy bed to lay my tired body in. Our public library and whoever invented such a thing. My church. Sidewalks. Garbage pick-up. Dishwashers. Dahlias. I could go on, but I know you have a list of your own. May it put you to sleep smiling tonight.

Happy Thanksgiving. 

One rascally long day…

Don’t spread this around. Last month I accepted an invitation to spend an entire day, from rising until bedtime, alone with three unbelievably handsome gentlemen. To keep things anonymous, we’ll call them Alfalfa, Buckwheat, and Spanky.

Alfalfa is six; Buckwheat is three and a half; Spanky is one and a half. 

As the appointed day approached, the arguments between Cynical Me and Optimistic Me went something like this:

CM: You’re never going to have the energy to keep up with those rascals all day.

OM: Hey, I already know how to do this. I once had three preschoolers of my own.

CM: Yeah, but you were in your twenties then.

OM: So, I’ll just let them tear around while I sit and watch.

CM: You’ll become exhausted and irritable and then you’ll get mean.

OM: No I won’t. All I need to do is keep them alive for one day until their parents return. How hard could it be? 

By the time breakfast was over, I had prayed for help three times, but I felt pretty proud of myself. Everyone was fed, Spanky had a clean diaper, and the kitchen was sort of clean. So what if Alfalfa decided to stay in his pajamas all day? The cold wind prevented us from playing outside, so we spent the morning reading books. Actually, Spanky and I read books while Alfalfa and Buckwheat jumped from bed to dresser to floor until I made them stop lest someone or something get hurt. So they jumped from crib to floor until something did get hurt: an overhead shelf came crashing down. But hey, everybody was still alive.

After lunch, I put Spanky down for a nap and sent Alfalfa and Buckwheat to their rooms for quiet time.

“But I don’t need a quiet time any more, Grandma,” Alfalfa said.

“I know,” I said. “But Grandma does.” 

We survived the afternoon and after supper the weather improved enough to go out. With a big farmyard to play in, I turned Alfalfa and Buckwheat loose and focussed my energy on watching Spanky toddle about. Until I heard heart-wrenching screams coming from the other side of the barn. Buckwheat had managed to collapse the rotting top fence rail. His belly still straddled the second rail, his head and hands lost deep in the long, woodtick-infested grass on the other side. Alfalfa looked on with an amused expression.

From the safety of the mown side, I managed to pull Buckwheat off the fence and checked him over for broken bones, cuts, bruises, and ticks. A hug and a kiss and he was good to go. But now where was Spanky? How did that little hooligan disappear so fast? I started calling.

Thankfully, he had only ventured inside the barn. That’s when I spotted the big red wagon. Hey, what a great way to contain all three boys—I’d give them a ride! They happily piled in and I began to pull. But half-way down their long driveway, I gave out.

“Say, Alfalfa,” I said. “Wouldn’t you like to pull your little brothers in the wagon?”

“No.”

“Well, you’re going to. Hop out.”

So Alfalfa pulled Buckwheat and Spanky to the end of the driveway. On the way back, Buckwheat pulled Spanky until, with one heroic last effort, I pulled all three of them again for the last half. I then left the two older characters outside while I wrangled Spanky into the bathtub.

When I called Alfalfa and Buckwheat inside for their baths, Buckwheat had soaked his shoes and socks in a deep, cold puddle and was howling again. But hey, everybody was still alive and Spanky wore a clean diaper and pajamas.

I got Buckwheat into the tub and went to hunt down Alfalfa. Meanwhile, Spanky wandered into the bathroom where his brother splashed around, soaking the entire room. I had to start all over, wrestling Spanky into a dry diaper and pajamas.

Eventually, everybody was tucked into bed, still alive, and their parents returned home. I drove home to a cup of tea and my own bed, thinking about how dearly I love these three little rascals and how thankful I am that God gives children to the young.

                                           

Alfalfa, Buckwheat, and Spanky