Mommy's little helper . . .

My beautiful, bodacious, baby girl.  She is handful, my three year old.  When I try and scold her, she puts her hands over her ears.   When she is “pesting” her older siblings, she does it quick and then runs.  She has this incredibly expressive face that looks at me when I'm upset with her and just grins.  Little stinker.  It's hard to be serious and angry when she looks up at me with these dark brown, sorrow filled eyes, and says, “I love you mommy.”  Ya little stinker.  Ya got me twisted around your little finger, haven't ya?

I'll be folding laundry (trying anyway) and she'll come up and wrap herself around me in the same manner of those itty-bitty monkeys you see in the really cute pictures.  I can't move, it's arms and legs completely attached and not letting go.   And then she laughs.  What a glorious sound.   Pure, unadulterated joy.

I'll be trying to do dishes and she gets her counter stool.   “Mommy, can I be your special helper?”   “You want to help?” I ask.  “Yep, your special helper.”  Ohhh-kay.  And then, more water on her and the floor than in the sink.

I have to hire armed guards to keep her out of my coffee.   If I leave it unattended, for even a brief second, it's gone.  How can a three year enjoy coffee so much?

With Ella in grade one she is scheduled once a month to be the “special helper.”   It's a big deal.  We talk it up at home and it's exciting because she gets to share bits and parts of her life with her classmates.  Ava has picked up on the term and now every time she wants to help with something, it's “I can be your special helper.”

So, I have been blessed with a sassy, saucy, stinking cute, special helper.  She is teaching me to be more patient.  To be more gracious.  To pray harder than I've ever prayed before.  To absorb every single “special helper” moment and hold onto it.  Because someday, she will be a teenager.