Beech Tree News Network

“If you put a peanut in the road and a car runs over it, it will make peanut butter,” my granddaughter, Sabria, told me on the way to school one morning.  She continued with the in-the-road theme.  “If you get run over by a car, sometimes you can still be okay.  They can take you to the hospital and fix you.  Sometimes, they can’t, but sometimes they can.”

I’m used to these kinds of musings by my granddaughter.  She works things out by reasoning out loud.  I let her.  Occasionally, I will interject an observation or opinion.  Last week, while I was giving her a shower, she took her suds-covered loofa and drew the symbol of the cross on the shower wall.

“This is the cross of Jesus,” she said.  “Jesus died on the cross to protect us.”

“Jesus also came to earth to teach us how to treat one another,” I said.

She turned in astonishment, “You saw him!” she said.

I explained that I read what Jesus said in the Bible.  She was disappointed that I hadn’t actually seen him in person.  I love these times in a child’s life, long before their minds are tainted with fear or loneliness or skepticism.  At least, I was able to convince her I hadn’t actually “seen” Jesus.  I still can’t seem to convince her that it isn’t actually Mary, mother of Jesus, who is singing “What Child is This” on the Celtic Woman CD.      

I’m thankful to be one of the people Sabria can express her thoughts to or come to with questions.  I grew up in an atmosphere not exactly conducive to question asking.  When I was young, I often tried to work things out on my own, and not always successfully.  I remember watching a movie in which two women, living out on the plains, took their life savings and purchased a Hereford bull.  Later, a massive blizzard came swooping through the area, and the whole herd was caught out in it.  By the time the women found the bull, he was frozen to death beneath the snow.  A few scenes later showed the area after spring had arrived.  There in the pasture were little Hereford calves.  I couldn’t make sense of it.  I knew the bull was a boy, and boys couldn’t have babies.  I did not yet know all of the details involving reproduction.  When my daughters came to me with questions, I always answered them truthfully, even questions involving reproduction.

After the afore-mentioned shower in which Sabria made the suds cross, she climbed up onto the stool we keep in the bathroom, opened her mouth wide and began an extended “Ahhhh” sound to her reflection in the mirror.  “What’s that little hanging down thing in the back of my throat called?” she asked.  “That’s an uvula,” I said.  She stuck her finger to the back of her throat then began to gag and cough.  “Oh my gosh!” she said, “I touched it and almost choked myself to death!”

Next, she decided to see how the uvula would react if she raised her voice.  She let loose an ear-piercing screech then reported that the uvula moved back and forth.  “It’s vibrating,” I told her.  Having discovered all she could about the uvula, she moved on to rearranging the post-it notes I had stuck to the other bathroom mirror in order to make room for a smiley face she drew in the fog that had accumulated there.

On the days that I take Sabria to school, we often listen to CDs.  The latest to grab her attention is the soundtrack from the sound of music.  When we listen to the song, “Maria,” I change the words to: “How do you solve a problem like Sabria?”  She laughs.  Sabria is a very curious and inquisitive child.  When she asks a question it is often succeeded by follow-up questions.  I’m sure she will ask me about reproduction, and when she does, I will tell her…go ask your mother.