Reminiscing

When I was younger, I was given to this childish notion that my mother never saw any of us without cooking up an errand in her mind. Go take your shower. Arrange the brooms. Feed the dog. Wash the cat. Do the dishes. Buy maggi.

So when we hear her coming down the stairs, we would abandon our play and throw the duvet over our heads, feigning sleep. She would come into the room and inspect us closely. But someone's giggle would give us away and the laughter would infect  us all.

'I only wanted to give you biscuits.' she'd say. And great would be the speed with which we would arise from bed, with outstretched hands.
'But before the biscuits, go and do those dishes.'