It's amazing the autonomy you are willing to give up when you're an adult. When I was a child I was dressed by my parents. When I was "old enough" I picked out my own clothes and dressed myself, which I thought a great improvement. When I got married, my wife started dressing me, which everyone else thought a great improvement. Now that I have kids, I find myself abdicating even further down the line. Most of my outfits are criticized, if not outright coordinated, by my daughter L. It seems very important to her that the whole family matches. Often she does a pretty darn good job. But today before church I had to regain a little of the old authority and veto one particularly frightening combo of shirt and tie that had been laid out on my bed for me while I was in the shower.
I believe I have told elsewhere of L's new penchant for breakfast and the preparation there of. A couple of days ago I heard lots of noise coming from L and N's room. I stepped in to investigate and found that L had prepared breakfast out-of-bed for her and her brother. He was sitting quite contentedly at the tray she had set up and seemed to be rather pleased with the service. I choose not to think how he (or he and his accomplice) managed to get himself out of his crib.
Oh, and please pretend you don't see all the junk scattered from one end of the room to the other. Just pretend, for our sake, that you see a nice, neat, well-organized and maintained bedroom, and not some set from the film Twister 2.
More raven than boy, N has found a sudden fascination with anything shiny or bright. He's discovered candles this week. We talked about hot, and we talked about careful, and we talked about how you can smell a candle, but can't touch. I'm quite sure it went in one raven ear and out the other. I'm fairly sure it will take a barbecued finger or two for the lesson to really sink in.
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