I was washing the dishes.
A fairly mundane, and totally necessary occupation when the house is filled with small children.
Our two-year-old (herein after known as TYO) came into the kitchen.
“Oh!” she said, hurrying over to me. “Dishes!” She started pulling up the sleeves on her dress.
I was just loading the last of the dishes into the washer. “Sorry, Sweetie,” I said, “ I've just finished.”
There were a couple of lids that still needed to go in, so I handed them to her and directed placement.
Then she turned and trotted out.
Thinking she was finished helping, I started to put water into the sink to clean the bigger things that didn't quite fit into the washer.
Suddenly TYO was back.
She had gone down the hall to the bathroom and retrieved the small stool we keep there to facilitate smaller statures reaching the sink.
This, she set in front of the sink and climbed upon.
“Okay,” she said.
I smiled at her. “Are you ready to wash the dishes?”
“Okay!” I handed her the cloth and she swished happily away over the pots and pans.
She looked so . . . intent and grown up.
The last things in the sink, the egg cups, proved a bit distracting. These were fun to simply play with.
So I let her, while I wiped off table and cupboards.
Soon, we were done and TYO stepped down, picked up her stool and carted it back to the bathroom.
I will admit, here, that she was a trifle damp – both on her rolled-up sleeves and the front of her little dress.
And her cleaning style was lacking somewhat in effectiveness.
But she was enthusiastic.
And very, very happy.
Someone is being taught very, very well.
It’s a wonderful thing.