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"Tooooommmmy!" sounded one small, but demanding voice.

"Tooooommmmy!" called the other.

The girls alternately bellowed, then managed to get in sync as their request to see Cousin Tommy escalated into a demand.

They were in the bathtub, something they were gun-ho about when Tommy left, but as soon as he returned, he was again the focus of attention.

Tommy is my cousin, old-enough to be their uncle, and hordes of fun.

My girls adore him.

It was a nice change from their usual bath time ritual, which includes calling for mommy or daddy 89 times, only to change their mind when one or the other arrived.

Tommy laughed for the first few minutes he was summoned and then decided on a plan of action. He crept to the bathroom and pounced in with a roar.

Tommy doesn't yet have children of his own.

I casually mentioned that we try not to scare the snot out of the girls when they're in the bathtub. Explaining that you never knew where an ill-timed jump in a wet and slippery bathtub might end.

As I was sharing that bit of parental superiority, it occurred to me that I was really talking out of both sides of my face.

Just a few days earlier I came upon Katie climbing the bookshelf in her bedroom.

She's recently become a climber, and all the knick-knacks that were removed to higher shelves for safety are in jeopardy.

I can't seem to break her of it, although a lot of other things have been broken in the process.

I saw my chance when I spied her clinging to the top shelf, which happens to be covered in ceramic and glass decorations and picture frame. She was precariously perched with her feet on the second shelf.

In that second, I decided I'd creep in, grab her and frankly, scare the piss out of her while pulling her from danger.

We'd had several long talks about her climbing and the danger. Those obviously hadn't don't the trick, so it was time to take more-aggressive measures.

I was a second too late.

Just as I'd formulated my plan and started my stealthy approach, the top shelf slid from its brackets and Katie fell backwards onto the floor with the shelf and its contents falling seconds behind.

She was unharmed, but scared to death.

Without my help, my plan had worked. She stood in the corner while I tried to salvage the broken pieces of frames and ornaments. When I got to the bottom of the pile, I found a large wet spot.

The fall, literally, scared the piss out of her.

We had a little talk about climbing and I haven't caught her at it since.

I'm sure it wasn't my inspirational talk that tipped the scales.

Christina M. Currie can be reached at 824-7031, Ext. 210 or by e-mail at ccurrie@craigdailypress.com.