Of Copycats

Micaiah is at that age.  The dangerous age when she enjoys pretending to be grown-up and in so doing repeats almost anything she sees.

A few nights ago, when she witnessed a friend receiving discipline she realized the teddy bear in her arms also needed a talking to and a little bit of a whoopin.'

Tonight, after I asked Philip to bring a chair into her room, I watched her march her little two-year-old self right over to the bedroom door, lean out like Mommy had done and yell, "Pill-up, eh gi bou [it's a rough transcript] chair!  Tankoo!"  (At least I tacked the "thank you" on the end, right?) - at which point we had to explain that, to her, he's "Daddy."

Not that I haven't been monitoring myself already, but I'm more closely learning the necessity to carve the knots out of my speech and actions that would hinder her development into a beautiful image of God rather than an ugly image of man.

"Help me, Lord."