Who Threw That?

Who Threw That?
A true-life embarrassing moment

         When my daughter was little we lived a few short blocks from a lovely park.  There were swings, a slide, and a merry-go-round, but at four years of age, Heather's favorite thing to do was take a picnic lunch and then collect acorns, leaves, and stones.

         Every day we'd walk to the park; sometimes she wanted to walk and hold my hand and other days she'd ride in the stroller.  We'd walk up a block and then turn right.  Heather knew the way.  "We have to turn at the next street, Mommy," she'd say.

         One bright spring day we walked hand in hand to the park; Heather carried the thermos of iced tea and I carried the bag containing our lunch:  tuna salad sandwiches, carrot sticks, and two big dill pickles. 

         Heather chattered all the way to the park.  "Be careful crossing the street," she cautioned.  "We can't let anything happen to the baby."  She smiled up at my swollen belly.  "My baby brother or sister will come soon."  She went on to speak of all the plans she had for her younger sibling.

         "Where would you like to sit today?" I asked when we arrived at the park.

         True to form, Heather picked the table we always sat at.  "I like this one.  The sun shines on it and Mommy?  I know it's not nice to do, but somebody made a heart in the wood and I like hearts."

         I smiled at my little girl.  "I like hearts, too," I told her.

         Heather climbed up on the bench beside me and patted my belly.  "Is the baby awake?"

         "No, not right now."

         She swung her legs back and forth as we ate our lunch, talking about trees, animals, flowers, and clouds.  "I'll throw the trash this time," Heather offered, collecting the napkins and baggies. 

         "Would you like to swing now?"

         Heather shook her head until her curls bounced.  Her brown eyes darted around the park and she pointed toward the grove of trees by the baseball diamonds.  "Let's walk there today, Mommy."

         As we started off across the park, Heather stopped at the play ground and picked up a smooth round stone.  A little later she stooped to look at a leaf.  "It looks like lace," she said, holding up a partially deteriorated leaf.  "How does it get like that?"

         Walking along, I tried to explain in terms a four-year old would understand. 

         "This is the leaf's bones?" she asked, looking at it even more curiously.

         "It's kind of like that," I nodded.  I sighed as we reached the stand of trees.  "Look," I said, pointing up at one of the branches.  "The tulip trees are going to bloom soon."

         "Tulips grow on trees?" Heather inquired as her eyes widened with anticipation.

         I pulled a low-hanging branch even lower so she could see the blossom.  "This kind of a tulip grows on a tree.  It's called a 'tulip poplar'."

         "Look at the leaves, Mommy," Heather said, gently stroking one of the bright green leaves.  "They kinda look like tulips, too."  She twirled on her toes, sending her full denim skirt into a wavering circle around her waist.

         Heather skipped further along the line of trees, filling her pockets with the treasures she found.  "Ouch!" she cried, rubbing her head and looking around.  "Who threw that?"

         Not seeing anything, she continued.  "Oowww," she whined again, stomping her foot.

         I looked around but I didn't see anything, either.  Heather bent to pick up another acorn when a chorus of chattering broke out overhead. 

         "Mommy!" Heather exclaimed.  "Those squirrels are throwing acorns at me."  She pouted and began to cry.  As she ran back to me, the squirrels followed her, leaping from limb to limb, chattering all the way.

         "Ouch!" I rubbed my head and looked around.  There on the ground was an acorn that had not been there before.

         "Did they hurt you, Mommy?"

         "No, sweetie, I'm fine."

         "What's wrong with those squirrels?"

         "Perhaps they think you're stealing their food," I suggested.

         Heather looked up at me, her big brown eyes welling up.  "I would never steal, Mommy," she said solemnly, stretching her little arms as far as she could to hug around my bulging belly.

         "I know, sweetie.  Squirrels eat acorns.  Maybe they think you are taking them away."

         "I never take them out of the park," she insisted.  "I always stack them at the picnic table but they're gone when we come back."

         "Maybe the squirrels don't know you're the one who does that."

         "I'll show them," she replied, her expression brightening.  She looked around and quickly gathered as many acorns as she could while the empty-handed squirrels complained angrily, leaping from tree to tree.  Reaching the end of the tree line, she ran toward the picnic table we had eaten at earlier.  The squirrels ran down the trunk of the last tree and stopped just before reaching the ground, gripping the bark with their claws and calling out after her.

         Heather neatly stacked the acorns by the leg of the picnic table; a considerable pile.  "Here, squirrels," she called.

         I picked up a handful of the nuts and dropped them in a line as I approached the table where Heather waited.

         "Let's hide, Mommy," Heather said slyly.

         She played on the swings for a while, glancing at the picnic table from time to time.  "Will you push me on the merry-go-round please?" she asked half-heartedly, looking once more toward the table.

         Heather got ready for her dizzying ride but before I could set the merry-go-round spinning, she put a finger to her lips and pointed at the picnic area.  Five squirrels were scurrying about beneath the table, packing their cheeks with acorns and running back toward the trees.

         "I think they're happy now," Heather said with a smile.  "Aren't they cute?"

         I laughed as I watched her crouch down and tiptoe slowly toward the picnic area.  She stopped before the squirrels noticed her and watched as they ran back and forth until they had carried off all the nuts she had left for them.

         "Ready to go home?" I asked.

         Heather nodded and covered a yawn.  "I'm ready," she said finally.  "Bye, squirrels.  See you tomorrow."

         Later that evening Heather told her father about our trip to the park.  "Then the squirrels threw acorns at me," she relayed in a grumpy-sounding voice, crossing her arms, pouting, and stomping her foot.  She huffed and rubbed her head as she recalled the acorns hitting her.

         Tim was amused by her retelling of the tale and looked at me for confirmation.  I stomped my foot and pouted.  "They hit me with an acorn, too," I tattled, rubbing my head and trying not to laugh.

         "My poor babies," he cooed in a patronizing tone, gathering us into his embrace.  "Sounds like when the squirrels get angry, it's time to go home."

         "But Daddy," Heather insisted, "they were happy again when they found the acorns we put under the table."

         "I wish I had seen it," Tim said with a laugh, imaging the squirrels' antics.

         "Do you want to come see the squirrels tomorrow, Daddy?"

         "I wish I could, but I have to work."

         "Oh," she replied sadly, looking at the floor.

         Tim twisted one of her curls around his finger and tugged it playfully.  "If you promise to make me one of those yummy tuna sandwiches, we can go this weekend."

         A wide smile spread across Heather's face and sparkles danced in her eyes.  "I promise."

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