Andrea threw up this morning forty minutes before church. It was suppose to be my second Sunday conducting in Primary, and I was determined to get it right this time. Two weeks ago I butchered my first time conducting and had to hide in the Primary closet for some hormonal tears. Being a girl is awesome.
I told Paul the other day that I never wanted to be a man. I like that my sensitive parts are tucked away deep in my belly and not exposed for the occasional fetal-position inducing injury men so commonly demonstrate in comedy films and during impromptu football games. I also like how. . . um. . . spontaneous my emotions are. How boring would life be if you always went to the grocery store knowing you would never tear up at the sight of a toddler potty seat? Life would be complete drudgery if it weren't for some sudden sobs for Eugene Fitzherburt at the end of Tangled.
But I think my favorite part of being a girl is my attention to detail. If I ask Paul to clean the kitchen he will stand in front of the sink and stair blankly into the mass of dirty dishes. I have learned to be more specific. Please load the dishwasher. There. Now he looks less ruffled. Wipe the counters please? He's so sexy wielding a dish cloth. Empty the dish drainer hand wash the knives and large pots wipe out the microwave remove burners from stove wipe down stove don't forget the knobs for the oven and the side of the fridge. I can see in his eyes that he's shutting down, he eventually abandons the task completely. He had it easy though. I didn't even mention the floors.
Most of the time it's easier if I handle these tasks myself and when he occasionally pitches in I ignore the things he missed because I'm blinded by gratitude and love. And probably tears too. Spontaneous.
A few months ago I noticed some of these qualities manifesting themselves in Andrea. One of her favorite pastimes is helping unload the dishwasher. Her little hands want to touch every clean dish and hand them to mommy to put away as she declares herself my helper. Sometimes she insists of having her hands cleaned during meal, and she almost always wants to wipe off her tray while proclaiming, "Messy!" On Monday while Paul and I snuggled on the couch watching an action show, Andrea continuously pointed out how messy the explosions were. That's my girl.
Yesterday while I spent the day at my parent's house working on a paper for school. Daddy got her up in the morning, fed her all her meals, and put her down for the nap. She started to notice late in the evening that Daddy doesn't do things the same as Mommy, and she took a video to show me how messy things became, specifically in regards to my unmade bed.
Paul. Busted. By. A. Toddler.
That's my girl. *Sniff* Spontaneous!