I love stories, especially true ones. Charlie and the Ant is one of my favorites. You can imagine Charlie loves hearing it too. He turns nine this coming Tuesday, and sometimes his birthday coincides with Mother’s Day.
A little Mother’s Day indulgence for me today, finally publishing this story. Hope you smile. And a fabulous Mother’s Day to all you wonderful moms out there!
Charlie and the Ant by allie taylor
The growing Mt. Everest heap under the laundry chute was an embarrassment. Early one Saturday I finally rolled up my sleeves and did business, washing and drying the whole lot. But what I really dreaded? The sorting. The folding. The missing socks!
Charlie was just a little guy then, still a baby. I sat him down next to the mountain of clean clothes with a rattle, “Good Night Moon” and his passy. And that kept him busy. (For about a minute.)
The laundry stacks grew, and suddenly Charlie’s eyes brightened like Christmas. He zig-zagged lickety-split toward something. Something alive. It was black and shiny and possessed six wriggly legs. An ant!!!
Yay, I thought cheerfully, relieved he’d not yet reached that all important pincer grasp milestone. Yes, just the thing… a pet ant to occupy him. Fascinated, he busily tracked the ant for several minutes while I was making a sizable dent in the laundry pile.
And then in a flash, the unthinkable happened. The ant was nowhere to be seen. Motivation must be key to mastering that pincer grasp. Because the ant was now captive.
In Charlie’s MOUTH!
I should have left well enough alone. I know that now. Extra protein is good, and he was so happy.
(The baby, not the ant.)
But I didn’t leave well enough alone. I freaked, and then shrieked. I’m sure they heard it in Tulsa.
And so he howled too, just as his daddy walked in the door for lunch.
“WHAT is going on in here?”
And then his Daddy laughed and laughed.
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