Today I did something I should have been doing consistently for just years now. I “let” Laylee help me clean the house. This was rare and precious both because I was actually cleaning the house and because I let Laylee be a part of it.
Usually I try to plan activities to keep her busy if the cleaning bug bites me but today she asked meekly, “Mom. Could I please help you scrub the kitchen floor?”
“Oh THANKS! Will you please save me some of the really sticky parts.”
The really sticky parts are vast and the grid pattern makes it easy to section off the floor into sticky chunks for easy division of labor. I got out a couple of rags so we could do the job Cinderella-style. When Laylee would get up to rinse her rag she would charge me forcefully with the task of saving her sticky squares so she could do them when she got back.
And she did… beautifully. She is a natural at slave labor and she begged for more. So I let her scrub the outside of the fridge and promised that she could scour something tomorrow. She asked me to never clean without her and I made a binding promise. (Future Laylee if you’re reading this, you now know you have no one to blame but yourself.)
In her prayer at bedtime, she thanked God for the chance she had to clean the floors with me and get all the crayon out of the grout. And pieces of my soul floated heavenward and were enveloped by the laughing moon.
Magoo is obsessed with all things Cars. When we arrived at Costco tonight, he saw the pizza stand and yelled, “FOOD! CA-CHOW!” and I loved him well, even though he doesn’t yet pray with fervent thanks for the opportunity to give me spa pedicures on demand. I’ll keep working on that. Maybe by the time he’s 4…
Were you wondering how much of a dork I am? I will tell you how much of a dork I am. At the park today I saw a woman reading the August issue of Parenting Magazine and I wrestled with myself about whether or not to approach her. Periodically they reprint small blurbs from my blog and I happened to know off the top of my head that there was a picture of Laylee’s fuzz-ball hair on page 32. What’s the point in being minimally famous if you can’t tell complete strangers that you are?
So as we pushed our kids on the swings, I nonchalantly said, “My daughter’s picture is in there on page 32.” And she gave me the best response ever.
“Oh!? Is she the hair?”
Yes! Laylee “the hair” Daring. It’s her new mafia name and I couldn’t be prouder.