They grow so fast. I came home today from a lovely brunch at my bloggy friend Meredith’s house to find my daughter wearing my socks. She’s four. (My daughter, not Meredith.) They fit her. OK, just to clarify a little, they are stretchy socks that are rather snug on me (though they are an adult 9-11 sock) but they fit her and fit her well. The heel was actually where it was supposed to be.
As the day went on I kept asking her if they were really mine. I thought maybe we had inherited them along the way and they were actually kids socks. She finally pulled them up as hard as she could and I knew for sure they were mine.
So my closet is already being raided. There’s not much to raid (other than socks). I got excited for a moment at the thought of reciprocal closet raiding and them I remembered she’s four. There is nothing remotely funny about an almost forty-year-old wearing anything except almost forty-year-old fashion.
There was something funny about watching Nicholas using scissors for the first time. He was showing great interest in Maggie’s scissors. I helped him get his fingers in the right spots. I drew a few lines on the paper and showed him how to cut on one. Then I let him loose.
He cut about 1/16 of an inch. Then he shook the scissors off his chubby little fingers. Picked up the piece of paper and ripped it in half. Right on the line. He showed me the two pieces with the proudest look on his face. That’s my boy!