Once I pried myself from the warmth of my bed and extracted her from her crib, our first task was obtaining an array of beverages. At her direction with, water, juice and milk and a granola bar in hand we set about our morning.
I am so lucky to have a child who is willing to help no matter what the cost to her playtime. She checked on me often as I showered by opening the shower curtain and babbling in at me. She expressed concern over the water that sprayed on her shirt and floor but took it in stride as she focused on the task of checking every eight seconds to make sure I was still alive.
My little helper even opened up the bathroom doors I had shut in attempt to contain her. I couldn’t be mad. She was only concerned that the appropriate amount of artic air be allowed to enter the room to counteract the warmth of the shower’s steam. I begged her to close the doors to preserve the warmth only to be met with a firm scolding about the amount of time I was talking to wash my face.
She only took a brief break in her shower curtain check-ins in order to rid the Kleenex box of its contents. Garbage belongs in the garbage, after all. I should know better. She removed handful after handful of Kleenexes from the box using them to wiper her face or the floor and deposited them directly into the trash can. It is my own fault for teaching the girl to blow her own nose.
Her final task was to remind me we needed to keep on schedule. So important was our timeline that she felt the need to request to go “downstays” every 12 seconds in order to put “shoes on.” I don’t know how it is possible that I make it through every morning managing to shower, dress and, indeed, put my shoes on, without her assistance.