helper

Every toddler has their 'key,' I guess.  Praise at being such a good boy and fear of losing sight of Mommy kept my Dallin doing whatever I asked.  Kate was eager to be the 'big girl,' so getting her to do something was a matter of proving it's grown-up-ness.

With Davis, I've discovered that he loves to be a helper.  If I ask him to hold tight to the cart while we cross the parking lot, he takes off in the other direction.  But, if I say I need him to 'help' me push baby Lea, he'll grab on tight (and grunt as we walk) while he 'helps' me push the cart.  It's like magic.

Tonight, in order to ward off the no-nap grumpies, I told him I needed a pizza making helper.  He gladly washed up and climbed on the stool to assist.  It was cute to watch his little hands smoosh and poke and push the dough.  He love sprinkling on the cheese and adding the toppings; proud to be the big helper.

Later when I noticed that his energetic 'painting' the oil on the crust had resulted in a big grease mark on his shirt, I could only smile as I rubbed on the stain remover.  Shirts will come and shirts will get grimy, but pizza making memories with my 2-year-old helper are some of the 'slow things that stick.'