Good Thing They're Cute

I am a father of five children—four boys and one little girl. They are some of the greatest blessings in my life. They also frequently serve as my greatest trials. I have remarked to my wife on more than one occasion that “it’s a good thing that God made them cute. If an adult did some of the same things that these kids do on a regular basis, they might not live to see another day.” 

These things include poking holes in and drawing on seats with a pen, writing on walls, knocking over the one-day-old DVD player and breaking it, and just keeping the house in a perpetual state of chaos. In perpetrating these offenses, there is no greater culprit than my youngest child. He seems determined to do everything months sooner than his brothers or sisters and to do it just a little bit better. None of his siblings walked until they were at least a year old. He did it at ten months. He wanders around the house everyday like a man on a mission. It almost seems like he has a to-do list: pull the books off of the bookshelf, pull the DVDs off of their rack, pull the laundry out of the baskets, pull the folded laundry off of the couch before someone puts it away, climb on top of the table and do a little dance, etc. 

We have finally resorted to keeping the chairs on their sides (adding to the mess that we call a home) to keep him off of the table. And if we try to get after him after catching him in the act, he just gives us the biggest, cutest smile and looks so proud of his accomplishment that it’s impossible to stay angry. And that is a good thing. I don’t want to be full of anger, so once again, it’s a good thing that God made them cute. 

Here is a short story inspired by my youngest child. 

Journey to the King’s Kitchen 

As I slowly opened my eyes, I saw the gleaming, textured surface above me. I wondered where I was at first but understood quickly enough when I looked around and noticed the white-washed, wooden bars that enclosed me. This couldn’t be happening again. It seemed that some of my more rebellious subjects attempted a coup at least once a day by imprisoning me in this padded cage the moment I drifted off. Luckily for them, I hadn’t yet discovered who the guilty parties were. Luckily for me, I still had several loyal subjects. 

 “Servants! Servants!” I called out to those in whom I entrusted my life. But oh, the incompetence! I had been calling out with my shrillest voice—the one that will instantly make the most laid-back of people grind their teeth and clench their fists— and still, no one came. It seemed impossible to find good help anymore. 

And talk about clueless. Just a few days ago, I had fired one of my servants named Dud, and yet he continued to show up to work every day. Not that showing up meant much to him. He’d leave early in the morning and not return until late afternoon. The other servant was much better. She was at my beck and call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week—except, that is, for those few times when she would go A.W.O.L. and times like this, when she didn’t seem to understand that when I called, I meant, “come now.” 

I have many names, although they seem to refer to me most frequently as chubbers, baby boy, or sweetheart—at least that’s what the princess tells me that they’re saying. I don’t remember much about life before I was crowned king. In fact, the first thing that I remember is my woman servant holding me in her soft, warm arms and giving me a smile that surpassed the warmth of her arms. She had me with that smile. She was my most loyal and trusted servant, and I must admit that I felt a certain affection for her, although I wasn’t above disciplining her when the situation merited—like now. 

“Servants!!” I called again more loudly. The increase in volume usually seemed to do the trick, but this time, it was a no go. Already, some twenty or thirty seconds had passed. I could not and would not tolerate such poor service. I was starting to panic. What if they left me here? What if they were all in on the coup this time? What could I do from this prison? It was time to pull out all the stops. “Servants! Come here now! I can’t wait any longer! Come here, come here, come here!” 

Finally, I could see the portal open and in came . . . no not him! It was one of the little servants, the skinny one. Not that they were little compared to me. But they were only about two or three times my size, unlike the giant ones. The little guys were unpredictable, uncomfortable, and at times, downright insubordinate. On occasion, they were so bad that I preferred Dud to them. 

“No, not you!” I called out. “I want Mum! Get me Mum!” 

The little man came over and started speaking some gibberish that I couldn’t understand. “Itsh okay widow babiesh. Bruddersh gochoo.” 

 I stopped yelling at him for a moment, attempting to decipher this code. All of the servants seemed fluent in this bizarre language. I hadn’t yet cracked it, though when they raised the pitch a couple of octaves, I was able to make out some words. That’s how I learned the names of Dud and Mum. These little guys’ names were a little tougher to grasp, so I just referred to them as Hefty, Flaco, and Smiley. It was a struggle to learn their language, but I persevered. I figured that if I could learn the language, I could spy on them. Then they would stop disobeying me and plotting against me. 

 That wasn’t going to happen today, though. As I was listening intently, Flaco walked over to me, lowered the portcullis of my cell, and picked me up! The audacity! He did not have my permission to do this. In fact, I remember specifically telling him to get me Mum. I mean, I wanted out of there, but not that bad. 

He took off with me on another crazy ride through the castle, whipping around corners and letting my head hang every which way. He descended the stairs at such a rate that I think that I left my stomach behind. I always felt that he was right on the verge of dropping me. Flaco was not the type of guy that you chose to carry your litter. I began to call out again for Mum. But instead of taking me to her, he tried to hand me off to one of the other little guys, Hefty. It was a toss-up which of these two was worse. Hefty didn’t usually pick me up without permission, and he was a little bit sturdier than Flaco. His one downfall was that he rarely came when I called. Sometimes, I’m not really sure why I kept these guys on. I suppose they made me laugh now and again, so I employed them as my jesters. It was when they attempted to fill these other duties that they really caused me grief. 

I calmed down for a minute, attempting to come up with a plan. I would just tell this guy what to do, but I swear sometimes that he didn’t understand my language even though I had declared it the official language of the kingdom shortly after my ascension. I sometimes wished that these people would just go back to whatever country they came from. But then who would serve me? 

I finally came up with a plan. I began to grunt and strain, and it wasn’t long before the magic happened. That would do it. These little guys just weren’t qualified for this royal duty. They would have to get me Mum now. I began to holler at him again in an attempt to speed up the process. “Hey clown! Get Mum now!” 

He put me down and walked out of the room. Finally, we were getting somewhere. He had scarcely left the room though when Dud walked through the door. He came over to me and picked me up. I must admit that this was slightly better. I usually found it soothing when he bounced me on his knee, but in my current predicament, the bouncing presented a real problem. The fluid mass that now filled my breeches began to ooze into every crack and crevice as it burned my sensitive, regal skin, and what’s worse, with each bounce, the load threatened to burst forth from its containment. “Open your nose and smell the vinegar, you fool!” I yelled at him. “Whatsumatta baby boy?” he asked. He grabbed my noble plug and attempted to shove it into my mouth, but I was in no mood for pacifying right now. He tried to give me one of my favorite games, which, under normal circumstances, I find very stimulating. Couldn’t he understand what was going on? There was only one thing that could take my mind off of my present discomfort, and let me tell you that this guy was just not equipped for it. There was just one more thing for me to try. I had to get through to him in his language. So I let out with a string of “Mum Mum Mum Mum” amid my cries of discomfort. 

His pinched brow finally relaxed, and his eyes opened wide in understanding. It was as if the light bulb had just come on. “Oooh,” he said. “I thinkee wantsyu sweetie!” Then I was lifted up and carried down the corridor into the great hall. And there, seated on the throne, was the object of my desire. I must admit that I lost control a bit at this point. I let Mum know of my mistreatment, I told her what I needed, and once again, I fired Dud. 

I looked on and screamed as Mum appeared to chew Dud out. She changed my imperial breeches. I felt much better, having clean pants once again, but it was too little, too late. I let her have it with another round of screeching. The decibels increased as I really lost it. She knew what I wanted, yet here I was waiting still. I needed my fix and I needed it now. Finally, all my chastising seemed to pay off. I melted into her warm arms as she satisfied my most primal need, drowning out all of my sorrows. What was I upset about in the first place?