Uh-oh

My twenty-month old niece is militant.  I love it about her.  Love that she is all spice and very discerning about who gets her sugar.  My sister sometimes laments Uh-oh’s fiestiness.  We call her Uh-oh because she is a fair trouble monger and announces the pain she is about to bring on (a head-butt, kick, bite, throwing of some food) with an “uh-oh” before she does it.  Turned away, so she can’t see us, it cracks us up.  I tell my sister almost daily that Uh-oh’s fiestiness will serve her well, keep her safe.  You want a girl who knows her power– doesn’t give it away to the very person who wants to take it.  Uh-oh owns her power.     

So the other day, I finally scratched something off my to do list that could be good for my career– and my mission and passion– that I have been putting on the backburner for months.  Everyday, it would be scrawled on my to do list and each day it would get put aside for time sensitive things.  That’s the problem when the thing you most want to do is not time sensitive.  It doesn’t get done.  That’s what was happening with this. 

But, finally, I woke up one morning and said, “I am doing this FIRST” and I did.  When I was done, I wanted to tell somebody, and Lola didn’t seem all that impressed so I called my sister.  She was appropriately excited for me and then told her two kids to shout “hooray” for Aunt Ro-Ro at the count of three.  One, two, three.  My nephew shouted Hooray just as instructed.  And Uh-oh stuck her fist in the air, my militant supporter.