This morning I went into Nia's room around 7:15am. She's usually the first one up and so I wanted to see if anything was wrong since she hadn't done her morning ritual of slamming a few doors and flipping on lights.
So, there she sat on her bedroom floor in the middle of fabric, thread, and dolls. She was just putting the finishing touches on a SUIT she had made for one of her dolls. This suit involved a short-sleeved jacket and matching skirt. It fit like a glove. She's going to sew it some underwear after breakfast.
Her talents abound so much that I don't know which ones to foster. Should we put her in a formal soccer league? Should I sign her up for sewing classes? Should I enroll her in Beauty School because she can do black hair better than most adult black women? Should I sign her up for cooking classes? Should I encourage her to pursue her gift of drawing? And she's also developed an interest in gardening. And baseball.
Clearly, you see my dilemna.
On a different note, I woke to the sounds of my electric sweeper Sunday morning around 6am. I walked into Nia's room to see her holding the sweeper oblivious to a house-full of sleeping people. In my morning stupor and frustration from losing valuable minutes of sleep I said, "NIA! What are you doing?" You have to say this with in a loud whisper voice with lots of irritation and accusation and wrinkle your face up in disgust. Go ahead, try it.
"Ma, today is Mudder's Day. I clean my room for you." It was spotless. Narry a dust bunny to be found. I, of course, crumpled into a heap of surprise, guilt, shame, remorse, happy, self-loathe, scum-eating, thankful Never Winning Mother Of The Year for having jumped to conclusions about her motives. Motherhood is such a sanctifying job.