Read Online Chicken Soup for the Grandma's Soul by Jack Canfield - Free Book Online

wooden breadboard. I loved hearing her humming Yiddish songs as she danced around the room with me standing on top of her lace-up shoes. But most of all I loved the armoire drawer I slept in when I stayed at Richmond Street. It was the bottom drawer of a huge piece of furniture from “the old country” that pulled out to create a perfect sleeping nest for a three-and-a-half-year-old. Lined with a deliciously soft eiderdown and fluffy pillows such as you only find in Europe, that tiny space made me feel absolutely safe and loved. In the evening when I grew sleepy, Aunt Tooty tucked me in to my special bed chamber, and in the morning when I woke, she was there to greet me, her ample bosom already adorned with a cameo, a lace handkerchief tucked inside her dress for emergencies.
    It was in just that place on one such morning that I awoke to my beloved Aunt Tooty singing, “I have a surprise for you!” Lifting me out of my drawer, she danced me around the room and then sat me in her lap. “You have a new baby brother!” she said. “Isn’t that wonderful news?”
    I knew that my mother was going to have a new baby, and I understood vaguely that its arrival was imminent when my father took me to Aunt Tooty’s. I also knew that everyone waited with bated breath for it to be a boy. Mom was forty and had two daughters already, it was the least God could do for her. But I wasn’t sure that it was wonderful news. I’d wanted the baby, and I was happy that my mother and he were safe. Still, what if Aunt Tooty loved him more than me? What if he got to sleep in the drawer, my drawer, and I had to be relegated to the couch, or worse, a bed! What if I could no longer dance on my Aunt Tooty’s feet or if she stopped slipping me extra freshbaked rugela or humentashen because she was too busy cooing over my new baby brother?
    I needn’t have worried. Aunt Tooty knew exactly how a little girl might react to news of a special sibling. “Now, you know,” she said, pointing to my drawer-bed, “this is your special place when you come to see me. This isn’t someplace anyone else can have when they come here. So don’t think you can give this drawer to your little brother when he is old enough to sleep here. I’ll fix a nice drawer for him too, but not this one. Oh, no, this one is just yours.
    Is that okay, shana ?” she asked. (I loved when she called me shana; she told me it was Yiddish for “pretty”. Then she swooped me into her arms and, humming a Yiddish melody, danced me into the kitchen for some milk and mundelbrot. The smell of simmering soup already permeated the little room. Pulling the lace hanky from her bosom, I began to suck my thumb, fingering her cameo with my free hand. The scent of her talcum reminded me of babies.
    â€œWhen can I see my new brother?” I asked. I was ready to meet the long-sought-after son who I knew would never take my place, not in the drawer and not in Aunt Tooty’s heart. “When can I see my new baby?”
    â€œToday!” she said. “But first let’s put away your bed. Next time you come, I want it to be all ready for you.” She handed me a bag full of homemade cookies and I, in turn, relinquished her handkerchief. Together we prepared and stowed my bed, then went into the sepia sitting room to await the sound of my father’s big, black Buick, the sight of my mother and the squalls of my new baby brother.
    Elayne Clift

If It’s Tuesday
    F ew things are more delightful than grandchildren fighting over your lap.
    Doug Larson
    From the kitchen I hear the crash and the baby’s wail. “Oh my gosh!” I shout as I reach the scene in the living room. The bouncer is upended, baby and all, and her two-year-old brother stands beside it, wide-eyed, lips quivering. I pull the baby into my arms and check her body for welts and bruises. All clear. Hugs and kisses calm her, and I turn