Precious Moments

Precious

Our days are full of household chores. But the duties are light and enjoyable with my three year old helper by my side. She's in the stage of wanting to emulate mommy and there is no praise too small. She painstakingly folds clothes with me. Each article is laid out flat and then carefully patted into a small square. She proudly presents me with each "folded" piece of clothing. "It's perfect." I assure her. I have learned to not re-fold the clothes in front of her. I did that one day and a little of the proud light in her eyes faded. I want those beautiful deep blue eyes to continually sparkle so I take the clothes and gently put them in the drawers. There is plenty of time for proper folding later.

These are precious days...

My little girl has beautiful red hair. She has learned that her hair attracts a lot of attention, which, most days she enjoys. However, it does get old when complete strangers come up to you all day and comment. She is a good sport and though she will tell people what she is thinking/feeling, she is learning to be gracious. I see the smile is a little too forced or a little to small and I know she's ready for privacy. Out of the corner of my eye I notice an elderly gentleman approaching. We know what's coming. Sure enough, he comments kindly on her hair and tells her she is beautiful. An impish grin reaches her eyes. I can tell by her facial expression that something is on her mind. She thanks the gentleman politely then comments, "And you have no hair! What color was yours when you had hair?"

These are precious times...

My hair is piled on my head, soaking in the gray-zapping hair color. I know I don't have any yet...or so I hope...but it's never too soon to start covering. I'm studying the directions and a little voice asks, "Can you get red hair like me Mom?" I assure her that I'm trying. Perhaps not the gorgeous red waves she has, but the box claims I'll have golden red hair when I'm done. I wash it out and as it dries I realize going darker is going to be harder than I anticipated. With an orange-cranberry tinge, it turned out far different than I imagined. But a sweet little girl touches my hair and then measures a strand of her hair up to mine. "Look Mom! We match! You're so beautiful, Mommy!" My eyes well up. She has no prejudices and no inhibitions. I'm beautiful to her...and isn't that all that matters?

These are precious moments...

Laundry is piled around us on the bed. But I just had to reach over and tickle the little girl staring studiously at her project in hand. She looks so serious and that's not her usual expression. Her eyes startle at me and she starts to giggle. From birth, she's had that deep belly laugh which is completely contagious. I continue tickling her. She throws her head back and laughs and laughs. I kiss her cheeks and forehead. My heart is full and she cups my cheeks in her hands. "Mommy, I'm not really ticklish." She grins. I tickle her again and demolish her statement. I wish these moments lasted forever.

These are precious stages...

She sits at the counter while I clean up the kitchen. She loves to be close to me even if she isn't watching me. I ask her what she's working on and she holds up a Picasso-esque sketch. I'm not really sure what it is but I've learned not to say what I think it is. "It's beautiful, honey. What is it?" She rolls her eyes, as if I can't tell, and explains, "This is the hippopotamus and that's his washcloth. He's taking a bath but he's really dirty." Every picture tells a story. She finishes coloring it and I realize that she has stayed almost completely within the lines she drew. And it really does look like a hippo...even the eyes she drew on it. My baby isn't a baby anymore.

These are precious moments...

There is a little redhead dressed in her apron. She is a replica of her mommy who is also dressed in an apron. Mommy tied her hair back in a clip. The little girl studied her mom and ran up to her bathroom to find a matching clip. Now they are working together in the kitchen. Dinner preparations that used to take Mom only fifteen minutes now take close to an hour. But it's an hour well spent.

The little girl carefully washes and pulls the grapes from the vines. She is distracted only when she sees something she'd like to stir. Together they work on a good, although unpolished, dinner for Dad. The redhead carefully sets the table. The forks are crooked and on the wrong side but no one comments to the contrary. She has carefully folded the napkins and proudly brings Dad a plate. He compliments her and tells her how proud he is of her. The look in her eyes is incomparable. She glows and can't smile any wider.

And her parents pray that she'll stay this way for a long time because these are precious years and they vanish altogether too quickly.