My daughter, now pushing three years old, decided to help us out today with the chores. She’s inherently helpful – when she wants to be. This is fantastic – most of the time. Yesterday, she helped stack wood into the pile from a tree we cut down from our yard.
I wasn’t fond of the fact that it was literally up against the garage. And it only took about three or four years for it to be taller than the house. What is it? No clue. Pain in the ass. There are several of the same type of tree-weeds in my yard. Seriously, they keep popping up all over the place in my yard – through the fence, against the garage – and the house. And they all need to come down. More than the ginormous cottonwood tree that causes my sinuses to throb and my eyes to burn for the better part of the summer.
Back to my original thought. She likes to help. She also helped when we got to my parents’ house, shoveling rock from a pile into a small lawn trailer hooked up to Mom’s yard man lawn mower.
Today, she was Daddy’s Little Helper. He filled up the sink full of hot water to take care of the dishes we hadn’t done since Friday – we made sesame chicken for my inlaws for dinner and took it up to their place so the kids could see Grandma and Grandpa.
I came out of the bedroom from folding laundry and saw this:
Now… we’ve always kept a jar of quarters in the laundry room just for such occasions. But today when I went to look, it was empty. So I raided my husband’s piggy bank and pulled a handful out for our Little Helper Jar. She gets a quarter for yesterday – maybe even two, since she helped at home and at Grammy and Grampy’s – and another for today for rinsing the dishes. I love my girl. But wonder if I’ll ever be able to get my son – whom I love equally – to be a big helper again too.