One morning, Amelia got up early. George was still asleep, and Brigette was sleeping, too. Amelia managed to crawl out of bed, slip past the crib, and get all the way into the kitchen without disturbing either of them.
“I think I’ll start some breakfast,” Amelia said to herself.
It was that quiet time of the morning, when there was dew on the grass that was getting close to being frost, but wasn’t quite. Some birds had woken up–mostly the magpies who would stay in Alberta all winter–and they were hollering at each other out the window, using the most abominable language! She’d have to have a word with them when Brigette was older. They couldn’t have that kind of language around a pollywog.
Apparently, one magpie felt that the other had stolen his French fry. The second magpie felt it was his by right, and the more they squabbled, the more insulting they got. They insulted each other’s nests, each other’s feathers, and finally each other’s wives. And that took them out of the tree to go have some fisticuffs in the street like a couple of hooligans.
“My goodness…” Amelia muttered, cracking an egg into the pan. If the magpie wives heard all this racket, they’d go drag their husband’s back by their tail feathers, and Amelia hoped they did!
From the other room, Brigette started to cry, and Amelia was about to dash back when she heard George’s deep voice.
“Gentlemen, there is a baby in this home!” he called out the window. “I hope you’ll watch your language in the future!”
George had it under control. She added another egg to the pan. They’d have a hot breakfast before George went to work. This wasn’t the first time she thought it, but she was ever so glad she’d married such a civilized frog.
When George got home after work, he always gave Amelia a kiss. He missed her all day when he was away. He even called her at lunch time most days, just because he wanted say a quick hello and see what was happening at home.
But then, after giving his wife a smooch, the next thing he did was scoop up his pollywog. He liked to sit in the big easy chair and tell her stories while Amelia puttered around doing all the things she needed two hands for.
“Do you want some help?” George asked his wife.
“No, no!” Amelia said. “Just hold Brigette. She hasn’t let me put her down all day.”
So George settled back in his chair and patted Brigette’s diapered rump.
“Would you like to hear a story, Brigette?” George asked. “Once upon a time there was a lonely frog. He didn’t know he was lonely, though. He was very busy taking college courses so he could get a good job. But then one day when he was walking to class, he nearly bumped right into the most beautiful frog who was walking along with her nose in a book. She dropped her bag, and he helped her pick it up, and he decided to walk her to her class, just to make sure he could find out her name. He was late to his own class, but he felt it was worth it. Do you know her name?”
He looked up to find Amelia in the doorway, watching him with sparkling eyes.
“Her name was Mommy,” George whispered.
“Oh, George,” Amelia said, and she went over and gave him a kiss. “You tell very good stories.”
“She’s got to know where she came from, doesn’t she?” George asked.
Besides, he liked the way Amelia’s eyes sparkled when he reminded her of how they met. She was very pretty on that autumn day at college, but she was even prettier now. When a frog was loved very well, she just got more beautiful with age. That’s what his father told him, and George found that it was the honest truth.
Brigette was growing quickly, as pollywogs do. And as she started being able to focus on the things around her, she discovered the pets. She loved the pets! She would wriggle happily whenever they were around, and Amelia discovered that Brigette hated being put down on a bed, or in a cradle. She hated being put on the couch.
But if Amelia laid Brigette on the floor, Brigette would happily watch the cats drink their milk, or the dog chew on a bone, or the parrot walk across the carpet. She’d even watch the fish swim around his bowl, so long as she was close enough to get a good view. And that was how Amelia got anything done.
“Heaven help me when you learn to crawl, Brigette!” Amelia said.
And Amelia went into the kitchen to sweep and get some dishes done. She kept an eye on Brigette out the kitchen door, and the pollywog watched with big, curious eyes as the cat drank her dish of milk.
A moment later, Amelia heard a loud “meow!” from the cat, and a clatter from the bowl, and when she looked over, Brigette had used her tail to spill the bowl of milk all over the carpet.
“Oh no!” Amelia said, running out with a towel to mop up the milk. The cat was offended and trotted away with her tail high, but Brigette looked positively delighted to be covered in milk.
“I need to put you further from the cats!” Amelia said, scooping up the pollywog. “You can’t share their milk, Brigette.”
Now, Amelia would never do it because she believed very strongly in not using a TV as a babysitter, but she could understand why some frogs might be very tempted to turn on some Sesame Street! Maybe just for a few minutes once in a very long while.
Very, very tempted, indeed!
If you’d like to read my newest story, pop over to my books page and see what’s new!
Happy reading!
❤
Patricia Johns 
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