Squeezed into the last open
table at Starbuck's on a busy
morning with one of my
exercise compadres, we
leaned in close to chat over
the din of other conversations,
laughter, the rustle of news-
papers and the swoosh of
the milk frothers, churning
out lattes and cappuccinos.
We'd just been to barre class,
{and survived!} reason enough
to celebrate, so we settled in
with our tea and started talking
about everything, the way
good friends always do.
about everything, the way
good friends always do.
Our conversation turned to
chores. I mentioned that earlier
I had turned up the music, set
the timer on the stove and
zoomed through the house,
zoomed through the house,
a white tornado in action,
picking things up and putting
them away until the timer
went off.
Otherwise, I lamented, I get
distracted and veer off course
very, very easily.
If you give a mouse a cookie,
Margaret stated, nodding
her head sympathetically.
Whaaat?
If you give a mouse a cookie,
she repeated, a twinkle in her
soft hazel eyes.
I had a lightbulb moment the
second time she reeled off the
title to this much-loved children's
book.
Published in 1985, If You Give
A Mouse A Cookie demonstrates
how one event leads to another,
which leads to many others, until
you aren't exactly sure how
Mouse ends up where he does.
you aren't exactly sure how
Mouse ends up where he does.
It's a frenetic ~ and hilarious
~ romp.
~ romp.
My eyes lit up as I shook my
head in agreement.
If you give a mouse a cookie...
If Suzanne takes the clean laundry
upstairs to put away.....
He's going to ask for a glass of milk.
She's going to see the unmade bed
in her daughter's room.
When you give him the milk.....
When she makes the bed.....
He'll probably ask you for a straw.
She'll notice the plant on the windowsill
needs watering.
When he's finished, he asks for
a napkin....
When she's finished, she spies
her daughter's sketch pad....
Then he'll want to look in the
mirror, to make sure he doesn't
have a milk mustache.
Then she'll sit on the bed, looking
at all the new sketches, until the bell
on the washing machine goes off.
When he looks in the mirror,
he'll notice his hair needs
a trim....
When she hears the bell, it will
snap her back from the sketch
book and she'll notice the clock....
So he'll probably ask for a pair
of nail scissors.
So she'll grab the laundry basket,
still in the hall, and head to her
linen closet.
I am that mouse, bouncing from
one thing to the next, never going
straight from Point A to Point B.
Which is where the timer comes in.
When the timer is on, I am like a
race horse with blinders. The finish
line is all the trappings of daily life ~
unsorted mail
piles of shoes and boots
permission slips
magazines and books
sweaters draped on chairs
scattered doggy toys
laundry drying on hangers
put away in their proper places.
No stopping, no distractions,
no
giving
the
mouse
a
cookie.
I wasn't always like this.
When my kids were little and
home all day, I was about as
far from the mouse as it gets.
Always a body in motion, I
didn't let any grass grow under
my feet. Things got done very
efficiently.
I'm not certain how I've
become the mouse. Maybe
it's years of accumulated thoughts
and ideas jockeying for position
in my head alongside the more
mundane aspects of life.
Author Laura Numeroff has
written many other books with
this same scattered mouse
mentality ~
If You Give A Moose A Muffin
If You Give A Pig A Pancake
If You Give A Cat A Cupcake
And her latest,
If You Give A Dog A Donut....
They are all pretty darn cute.
Which is what I'll remind myself
the next time I am fluffing a
pillow or shelving a book in a
pillow or shelving a book in a
room, wondering,
Why was it
Why was it
I came in here?
Please tell me I'm not the
only mouse. Please, please.
Sit right here.
That's it.
I just opened a new box
of Girl Scout cookies, which
means we'll each need a frosty
glass of milk to go with them.
Hmmm, who knows
where
this could lead?
xx
Suzanne
