Lemon vignette
“MOM!” Moriah calls, and I can hear her running up the steps.
“I’m in the bathroom!” I answer in a decidedly cheerful voice.
“Can I make lemonade?” she asks loudly as I hear her running down the hall.
I consider. We have real lemons, that the children helped their Grandpa pick right off the tree while in Arizona. Moriah is able to squeeze them by herself, and knows the lemonade recipe. While she might need a reminder to clean up, she can easily do this unattended, and it must be close to snack time anyway.
“Yes, that would be lovely, dear.” I project my hearty, cheery voice through our solid wood bathroom door.
“OK!” she calls in reply. “Don’t tell anyone, OK? It’ll be a surprise!”
I briefly consider pointing out that these are not the best of circumstances for secretive lemonade planning, but decide not to yell that. Instead I call out
“Alright, I won’t tell anyone.”
“Neither will I!” Raquel pipes up from her room.
“I won’t either.” Toby shouts from I don’t know where. “Except Samuel. Hey, Samuel…”
“No, don’t tell me!!” Samuel yells from his room. “Don’t tell me!!”
The lemonade was a trifle too well renowned, but still very good.