Sam is helping me do dishes. Helping me at every turn. Helping me so much I’m starting to wonder if I’ll finish the job tonight. And he’s talking. Talking about anything and everything; right, left and sideways. I admit it, I’m not listening that closely until…
“So did it get throwed away?”
“Did what get thrown away?”
“The potty seat dat I had when I was a baby.”
“Oh, yes!” I said. Not at all certain how this topic came up and severely discombobulated, I find myself adding, “Because it was disgusting and covered in poo!”
“And ’cause I got too big for it?” Sam suggests.
“That, too.” I push the dishwasher drawers back in place and rifle under the sink for the dishwashing powder.
“Mommy, I helps you a lot don’t I?” Sam asks as he dumps a quarter of a box of dishwashing powder in and around the soap recepticle.
“You sure do baby.”
“Remember when you said nobody helps you and then I did and now I do the dishes every day?” He presses the start button and slams the door closed. “AND I feed the dog,” he adds with a satisfied grin.
I recall a certain hissy fit where I may have vented that no one helped mommy ever. From that moment forward, dutiful Sam has made it his business to help me to within an inch of sanity each and every night. Sometimes you really do get what you ask for. Ain’t it grand?
Grinning from ear to ear. Priceless.