random etchings

Frog

I was doing dishes when there was a flash and a pop from outside where my two little children were playing. “Ah rats.” No swearing in this house—if they learned the words . . . I shuddered at the thought if my children damning anything.

I hurried out the door. There was five-year-old Angelica, so innocent and sweet as she leaned over what might be a frog near the garden. I scanned the yard. No Nicolas.

“Angel, where’s Nic?”

She just shrugged and kept hovering over the frog. “Isn’t he cute?”

I glanced down. Seemed like an ordinary, run of the mill frog to me. Why was she so fascinated. “Angel.” I took her shoulders and turned her so I was looking in her eyes. “Where’s your brother?”

She glanced back down at the frog.

I looked down in spite of myself. The frog looked up with my two-year-old’s bright blue eyes. I put down my hand, and he hopped on. I shook my head, suddenly wishing that my mother hadn’t cursed me to have children just like me.

“Angel, we’ve talked about this.” She looked down at the ground, scuffing her toe. “Nic is not one of your toys. It’s time to turn him back and tell him you’re sorry.”

She glared up at me, and I was very glad I had better shields than she had magic. “But he was being mean.”

“That still doesn’t give you the right to turn him into a frog.” I hugged her close and kissed her forehead. “Now turn him back.”

She pouted a bit, but snapped her fingers and I was holding my little towheaded son.

“Sorry, Nicolas. I shouldn’t have turned you into a frog.” She glanced up at me, but I still was keeping a stern look on my face. “I promise I’ll never turn you into things, even when you deserve it.” I rolled my eyes and nodded. She beamed.

And then he squirmed down and ran over to hug his sister. “Again! Again!” He concentrated and he turned back into the frog. Without the fireworks.

Angelica looked wide eyed over at me. "I didn't do it!"

I just sighed.