From THE LAKESIDE REVIEW, a subsidiary of the STANDARD EXAMINER
Harry Houdini, were he still alive, wouldn't have anything on my kids when it comes to disappearing acts.
Ever since I first got the notion that strong, able-bodied elementary school-aged youngsters ought to be able to help load the dishwasher after dinner, my littles have perfected a vanishing act that would be difficult for the best illusionist to match.
No Hocus pocus, no Abracadabra, not even the most sincere A la peanut butter sandwich could work the magic of the words Clean-up Time!
Usually, I don't even have to say the words. From the exact moment I set my supper fork down to the precise second when the last crumbs have been wiped from the kitchen table, and all the greasy plates, platters, and cooking pots have been nestled in the Kitchen Aid by me, an unearthly quiet envelops my kitchen.
Not even a runny-nosed sniffle remains behind to break the spell. Visitors to my home during the after-dinner hour don't even believe I have children.
Other incantations likely to produce the same results as the nightly call for KP duty, include please, clean your room, rinse out the sink after you brush your teeth, and how about dusting the piano? Practice the piano also rates high on the list of expressions guaranteed to make kids hide.
Sometimes, my missing children are gone so long I start to worry about alien abductions. Then and only then do I mouth the magic words I've learned will bring them back quicker than the front door can slam six times.
Open Sesame, is all I have to say with my hand on the cookie jar lid. Then the kids come back, but the cookies disappear.
