One of the endless duties of parenthood is laundry. I was working my way through yet another giant load of (granted, totally precious) size 4/5 toddler clothing, and my Youngest was helping. By helping, I mean handing me pieces of clean clothing from the laundry basket waaaaaay faster than I could actually fold each of them, so that I ended up folding clothes with a huge growing pile of clothing on my lap. The Oldest, who was playing nearby, suddenly took a tumble, and started crying. My husband picked her up to console her, cuddling her on his lap, but she had gotten a pretty good little bruise on her knee, and kept crying.
Youngest has always had a tender, sympathetic heart. She tends to cry if others are crying, and is always very concerned and consoling. So she was very distraught by her adored older sister's tears. She kept repeating, "You ok? You ok?" and I could see she was near tears herself.
Suddenly, she ran over to my husband and threw the laundry she had in her hand at them. The leggings landed on my husband's head, and both my husband and the Oldest were momentarily taken aback, and then Oldest burst into laughter.
"What are you doing?" My husband asked Youngest with a mixture of amusement and exasperation as he pulled the leggings off his head.
"I'm trying to make her happy...with pants." Youngest explained.
There are so many things I love about that.
I love that she cared so much about her sister's distress and wanted to do anything she could to make her feel better.
I love that she followed her impulse, and took action instead of waiting for someone else to fix it, and that she just used what she had on hand in that moment to try to make things better.
I love that it worked. Oldest forgot her tears, and we were all laughing.
She is three years old, and I hope she spends the rest of her life making people happy with pants. I hope we all do.