Early afternoon, Saturday, I lay there reclining at the edge of my bed watching slimy sleazy afternoon talk shows when my fourteen-month-old Shekinah toured our entire bedroom, picked up all papers and trash and sauntered to where our room trash can was (which was way too hidden from her small hands so she could not play scavenger with it)and bent her small lithe self (surprising of all her stunts) and threw all the papers I was too tired to even notice.
I don't know how she picked up that act or routine (for she does that now quite often. I just need to keep my important documents away from her grasp so she wouldn't mistake it as trash). I gathered, she probably saw me doing that mindlessly on a busy day. When I recounted that miracle to her father, he grinned and said, "Well, she might have seen me throwing trash away." Maybe, but one thing is sure, we both know now that this early, we are saddled with more moral responsibilities other than teaching nursery rhymes.
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