Selena's New Job
The Little Molp The Little Mop Maestro This afternoon arrived without a trumpet, without a choir, without a headline announcing that greatness was about to visit my humble kitchen. Yet there she stood— a pretty little girl, barely one-and-a-half years old, holding a lengthy, dry sponge mop that almost seemed as tall as she was. Its handle stretched like a friendly giant, while her tiny fingers wrapped around it with determined delight. Across the floor her mother glided, sweeping away the ordinary footprints of another busy day. Behind her came a miniature reflection— not perfect, not polished, not concerned with whether a single speck of dust had surrendered. She had a greater mission. She was becoming. Every little push across the kitchen floor declared without words, "Look at me! I'm helping!" Her eyes sparkled with the innocent confidence known only to children who have not yet learned to doubt themselves. Each careful step echoed her mother's. Each tiny movement ...
