Sunnybook Farm Revisited

originally published in the early 80s

 

By Susan Manzke

 

            Our oldest son has never been at a loss for words, especially when he was a little boy. In fact, his handle when we used a CB radio was Jabber-jaws. You never knew what Robby was going to say as recorded in this column when he was five years old.

 

The assignment

 

            Some time ago, my son Robby returned from Sunday School with a homework assignment, a drawing. The topic of his work was, “Mommy is the best…”

 

            The budding Rembrandt waved the piece of paper in front of my nose. “See this square. I’m going to put you right here.”

 

            He was so excited about his homework. And I, his Mommy was to be his model. I could not have been prouder.

 

            I realized my face would be a slightly out of shape circle and my eyes would probably be two more cock-eyed circles. As in his other drawings, I knew my nose would be represented by two tiny dots. Which was fine. I always wanted a smaller honker.

 

            But what was I best at? Or what did he think I was best at? I began to fantasize what a little boy would consider tops in the Mommy field.

 

            I could be the best cook. I make gourmet peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. No, at the moment, food was not his top priority.

 

            Maybe I was tops at taking care of baby Russell. No one could change a diaper faster than me and have it stay secure. Though this feat might not count. No one else wants to change Russell. Still, I am the best.

 

            Of course, my son could and should think about Mommy’s writing. I have never been in JACK AND JILL, but he may remember me telling him to be quiet while I worked at the typewriter.

 

             Maybe he would think about my picture-taking. All the kids must think their mother has three eyes – the third being the camera.

 

            Then there’s my famous story-telling. I’ve gone through a library of books – stories about dogs and cats, horses and bunnies, boys and girls. I’ve read with parched lips and dry throat. I know I mumble a little and change a line or two in the books, but otherwise I’m one of the two best story-tellers in our house – the other being Daddy, who is the only other reader living here.

 

            As all the best things ran through my mind, my little boy sat looking at his blank piece of paper. He was stumped.

 

            “What are you going to draw me doing? What am I the best at?” I knew I should let him make his own decision. I shouldn’t lead him. All the books say a child shows his true feelings in his art work. So I waited for my son’s true feelings about me.

           

            His eyes lit up. “I know. I’ll draw you washing dishes. You’re the best at washing dishes.”

 

            “WHAT? Out of everything you think I’m the best DISHWASHER? Can’t you come up with anything else? I don’t want to go down in history as a dishwasher…. How about writing or reading or diapering…. Please not dishwashing.” I couldn’t help myself. He took me by surprise. I had to say something. Sue me.

 

            By the way, he finally drew me at my typewriter. Bright boy.