"I help you, Daddy"

There are days I wish I could just scrub my kitchen floor & have it stay clean for more than five minutes. The sound of the kitchenaid brings Fee running to the kitchen. I can't take a shower without my little sweet Fee joining me. I found her helpfully watering the plants (they were dead at least) on the back patio very liberally. Ten times. I realize I can view this two ways. Let it frustrate me, or embrace it. I have an oldest child, a Martha, on my hands.

She puts my work ethic to shame. The phrase that came out of her mouth so cheerfully the other night when we were tagging along with Dar on one last farm task was, "I help you, Daddy."

She wants to be where the action is. She wants a rag too. She knows where the aprons are kept & has her own half-apron that we fold over & wrap around her twice. She lines up her boots next to ours by the door.

At this stage, it's usually very inconvenient to let her help. But the joy in her voice & the thrill of being allowed to "help Daddy" is worth a lifetime of clean kitchen floors, neatly folded laundry, unstained little clothes, & smooth workflow. It is my prayer that I will welcome her cheerful help, when it's actually helpful, & even more, when it's not. I will try to embrace the gift that her helpful attitude is.

When she is an adult, I still want to hear, "I'll help you," roll off her tongue as cheerfully. And it starts here.