The room looked as if a tornado had gone through it: Toys of every size and color dotted the floor, a scatter of crayons peaked from under the bookcase, bits of paper snow-flaked the rug, a shirt’s sleeve and a lonely sock used an open drawer for recliner.
“Rachel!” the mother’s arms climbed to her waist in indignation. She’d cleaned this room that very morning.
The little girl lifted her face from the doll in her hands. Her visage was the epitome of innocence.
“Look at this room!” her mom exasperated.
The girl rotated her head obediently but without conviction.
“The mess!” the mom repeated when the child said nothing.
“Oh,” the child shrugged. One ponytail holder bobbed deeper than the other–it was hanging by a hair. “My eyes forgot to see it.”
For The Daily Post
Na'ama Yehuda 
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