Growing up, my dad called me his “number one daughter.” I always rolled my eyes at this because, uh, I’m his only daughter. It didn’t seem to carry much weight for me. (I am, after all, a praise-aholic. It needs to be REAL to count, for the love of pete.)
But I can say – at least for today – Tess is my number one helper. I know I’ve said Philip is my go-to guy for help in the kitchen because he’s enthusiastic, but he also wants to do it his way (I’m not against this, but sometimes . . . ). Tess, on the other hand, is an observer and watches me like a hawk. When she helps – which she offers at every chance – she tries to do it just like me. She is interested in the details whereas the boys could care less. “Get ‘er done!’ is their motto. But Tess is a constant stream of “Yike dis, Mama? Yike dis?” I noticed as I scrubbed the table last night (for the 9th time that day), she was mirroring my actions, down to the hand held below the table to catch the crumbs.
“Yike dis, Mama?” she asked.
Yes, my love. I DO like this.