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Quiet Toes

Twelve children. Twelve pallets. All are sleeping. The only sounds in the room were K.K.’s and Chez’s baby snores, the soft tap of the computer keys beneath my fingers, and the gentle swish of Ms. Jewel’s paint brush. Suddenly Harold, whom we’ve been nagging about using the potty, sits up on his pallet and pipes, “Ms. Jewel, I gotta poop!”

Ms. Jewel whispers back urgently, “Well come on. Stand up. Let’s go, but be quiet.”

Harold bounds to his bare feet and as he’s carefully picking his way across the carpet on tippy-toes he shouts out, “Look, Ms. Jewel, I’m being quiet good!”

Quilly is the pseudonym of Charlene L. Amsden, who lives on The Big Island in Hawaii. When she is not hanging out with Amoeba, she is likely teaching or sewing. Or she could be cooking, taking photographs, or even writing. But if she's not doing any of that, she's probably on Facebook or tinkering with her blog.


  1. Mumma — I was one of those kids and am one of those adults. The only thing that wakes me is OC leaning over me — and I wake so abruptly and so startled it either frightens him, too — or (when he’s expecting it) amuses him greatly.

  2. Melli — “quiet” is a hard concept to grasp. Remember Jake, my fifth grader last year? IF I could get his mouth quiet, his feet or hands had to tap. I told him once I needed him to not make a sound, period, and he replied in horror, “You mean all of me?”

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