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“I don’t know how to count,”
little Tommy said.
He sat at the table staring at his buttered bread.
“How many apples and bananas are there?”
Tommy squirmed around sitting in the kitchen chair.
“I’ll teach you,” said his mother, “I’ll do it right now.
I’m making pancakes.” She wiped sweat from her brow.
“Take a plate and put it right in front of you
And I’ll show you how to count, that’s what I’ll do.”
She put a pancake on his plate. “How many? Just one.”
Tommy grinned and chuckled. “This is going to be fun.”
“I’ll add another.” Mother put one on his plate.
“Hurry up and count them, before it gets too late.”
Soon Tommy’s plate was covered with a mighty stack.
“Let’s finish counting them.” Mother stroked Tommy’s back.
Tommy started with the first one. “This is number one.”
He shoveled it into his mouth; his eyes glimmered like the sun.
Tommy counted two and three and ate them with such greed.
Then he counted four and five, quite proud of his deed.
Six and seven disappeared, along with eight and nine.
“Go ahead. Keep counting. You’re doing just fine.”
After he reached seventeen, Tommy’s tummy could hold no more.
“I am full, Mother.” He threw the rest down on the floor.
He jumped off his chair and ran into the living room
And Mother had to clean the mess with a mop and a large broom.
“I think next time I try to teach Tommy how to count,
I’ll take him for a drive and instead he’ll count each mount.
That will be much easier, he can’t knock them down.”
Mother laughed and ran to find her son who acted like a clown. |
