When I dropped off my daughter the other day at the daycare, there was a little boy sitting on the floor crying. Almost everyday there's at least one kid doing that... pining away for their mommy... so I didn't think much of it. They stop crying soon enough. Daughter went over to see what her friend was crying about.
"What's wrong," she asked fruitlessly. He ignored her and just kept on crying.
As I was shutting the door to their room, my daughter was leaning over next to her friend, looking thoughtfully into his face and patting him on the back. It was one of the nicest things I'd seen in a long time.
Yesterday morning, I got up quite early, as is my custom on the weekend. Saturday and Sunday mornings are my favorite time of the week. As is her custom, Baby Girl soon broke the blissful silence of the living room, showering me with hugs and kisses and clamors of, "I'm hungry! I want pancakes!!"
Now, I can't blame her that she was feenin' for my made-from-scratch pancakes. They are to die for he said boastfully). I just didn't want to do it. I'd planned on taking the easy way out and popping open a canister of biscuits and letting the oven do all the work, but she asked(?) again, refusing to take "no" for an answer.
That was yesterday. This morning, after the Queen of the house broke the stillness of my morning, I got around to asking, "what do you want for breakfast?"
"What do you want?" she asked. "Tell me what you want and we'll have that." She actually insisted.
I could not have been prouder. My four-year-old is learning the beautiful art of compassion.