Adventures of a Housewife: A Funeral and a Cover-Up

As you already know, I'm up in Oregon playing housewife for some friends of mine. So "Adventures of a Shopgirl" are currently on hold. In the meanwhile, I present "Adventures of a Housewife":

There is nothing like starting off the day with a cup of hot coffee and a dead kitten. No, this is not one of those dead baby jokes (although I'm sure the girls will be into those soon). I am in the kitchen, enjoying my cup of coffee, when the oldest girl comes in, kitten in hand, to announce that the kitten is dead. As she tells me the story of the kitten, she's flopping the stiff body from hand to hand, occasionally stopping to smooth down the fur. I'm so transfixed I can barely concentrate on what she's saying. Right, left, right, left, pet, pet, flop, flop. She's absentmindedly handling the dead kitten while I'm frantically hoping that she won't suddenly put out her arms and hand him to me.

We've been expecting this. Mama cat has been pushing this kitten away for the past few days. The girls and their mom have tried to bottle feed the neglected kitten, but it was not meant to be. We decide to bury the kitten underneath the apple tree. I ineptly handle the shovel, and the oldest girl lays the kitten to rest. The younger one, worried the kitten won't be comfortable on his back, adjusts the body so that the kitten is on his side. "He should be comfortable," she says emphatically. I sprinkle the dirt over the grave, tamp it down, and we go inside. As we pass their dad, I tell him, "This was not in the job description." He laughs, "Welcome to the Addams Family." "Who's the Addam's Family?" the oldest one asks.

The girls are used to death. During my last visit the oldest girl dragged me (forcibly -- she is quite strong) to see the dead chicken. Its plump body was leaning up against a tree, legs up in the air, and stiff as a board. The younger one explained that they hadn't had time to bury it yet. Later the oldest girl had me close my eyes and put a skull in my hand. There was a gleam in her eye when she said, "Wait 'till I tell Mama you were afraid of the dead chicken."

It is difficult to teach children about death. It is hard to know when to be candid and when to protect. The girls' parents have done a good job finding a balance. The girls do not fear death or dead things. They understand it is a natural process. Sometimes mama cats can't take care of their kittens and they die. Sometimes chickens catch incurable disease. But sometimes the girls' parents protect the girls from sadness and grief.

The other day I was called into the kitchen. In a whisper, my friend says, "The goldfish is dead." I look in the bowl to suddenly realize there is no fish. "Don't say anything to the girls," he says, "I'm going to town to pick out a new fish. Maybe they won't notice." Later that day, the switch was complete. "Go feed the fish," my friend tells the girls. "How come the fish looks bigger?" the oldest one asks. "Your mom just cleaned the bowl," her dad replied. "Oh," she replied. The girls are none the wiser.