My eight year old daughter who does not believe in fairies (you need that bit for later) came into the kitchen with a small pot in her hand. She had been in the one room in the house that is out of bounds; the study. It’s the third bedroom really, but we use it to type, write, send emails, store files and dump the clean washing. But it also contains things that we don’t want Sarah to touch, such as superglue, stapler, sharp scissors, thumbtacks, computer printer. So she always finds it exciting to sneak in and procure something in the hope that she might be suddenly deemed old enough to keep it.
“Mummy, please can I have this pot of glitter?”
In a moment of weakness and distraction, I agreed and carried on with my duties.
Who wants this messy stuff?
I had been given the pot by a friend who thought she was doing me a favour, as I used to make my own greeting cards. But I haven’t the time or patience to throw glitter onto glued up card, tap it off, pour the remnant back into the bottle and wait for it to dry. I just use glitter glue and I’m thankful to whoever invented it.
An hour later I notice an empty pot on the dining table. I said, “Oh Sarah, have you made something nice? It must be lovely and sparkly because you’ve used it all.”
Sarah’s mouth puffed out at both sides and her lips hung down. This expression is only seen in times of extreme guilt. She told me that she hadn’t been crafting at all but had spilt the whole lot on the armchair in her bedroom. She then finished her speech by telling me she had tried to clean it up. The thought of her spreading tiny shiny particles about with a baby wipe was more disturbing to me than the actual revelation about the spillage.
I took a trip to the bathroom first, so I could wet my cloth. The floor was sparkling yellow and orange. The pink bath towel was the same.
In fact, I soon discovered that there were tiny shiny particles everywhere. My trip to the bathroom had contaminated me with sparkly bits. And now they were In the hallway, on the light-switch, on my PJs, in my hair, on my bottom, between my teeth, on my eyelids…
Spread like a virus
I dashed downstairs to fetch the vacuum cleaner then rushed into her bedroom. I could see the mass of glitter where it had spilt, but her school uniform was covered in it too. The carpet was littered with it and so were all her soft toys which had been laid out along the floor in a row.
Moment of truth
As I flicked glittery bits off the entire vacuum cleaner hose, I Suddenly realised something. The amount on the floor by the window, which is in the left hand side of the room was tainted with as much as the amount on the chair which is on the right. I exclaimed, “She’s done this deliberately!” Looking around at all the evidence, it was obvious that even if it had been an accident at first, the spreading of it had been intentional.
I screamed her name and called her to her room. After being confronted with my detective face and smug conclusion, she stared at me, realising it was no use pretending. Yes, mums cannot be deceived and they always suss the truth. ” I wanted it to be fairy dust….so I sprinkled it everywhere.” She said sheepishly. Fairy dust? FAIRY DUST!
I have nothing to say. I am not going to try to spiritualize a story just for the sake of it. I am a little irritated and slightly amused by the incident, but no relating bible verses or godly wisdom comes to mind. Well, apart from the fact that I’m am pondering on Exodus 20. For some strange reason verse 13 stands out amongst the rest of the Ten Commandments. It simply says, “You shall not murder.”