Wednesday afternoon, Riley was cutting strawberries. I had her set up on a bar stool, with a cutting board and a knife. I've taught her knife safety and how to cut without leaving fruit OR fingers behind. She is the primary eater of the strawberries, so I figured it'd be a good job for her - and it is - she takes it very seriously.
My husband came in, saw her cutting the fruit, and stopped dead.
She's cutting the strawberries, he said.
Yep, I said. That's her job today.
But, she's using a knife, he remarked. Shouldn't she be using a butter knife?
You can't cut strawberries with a butter knife, I replied. She does this all the time for me- it's her chore.
She looked at him and said, Daddy, I always use a knife to cut the strawberries. I'm making my First Holy Communion on Saturday. I'm not going to cut my fingers. If I did - and here she cupped her left hand into a circle and placed it on her right - my hand would look like this and then I couldn't receive Jesus. No, wait - and here she straightened her fingers out, so that her palm rose higher than her fingers in an arch - they'd probably bandage it like this. If I tried to receive like this, Jesus would fall! On the floor! And I'd be so sad that I couldn't receive.
So, Daddy, I'm fine. Go away and let me cut the strawberries.
I think she's got a better understanding than most any adult I have ever met.
Skipping your way to First Communion - that's what it's all about.