In the past month of farmer’s market trips you have discovered your love of fresh flowers. It’s not enough for you to gaze at them appreciatively from afar. You must possess them in your tight, sticky, grasp. You smell them, and pet them, and love on them until their stems break. Actually, you get a little “my precious” about the entire situation.
Even when I explained to you that the flowers needed to drink water because they get thirsty, you hung on the side of the dining table, stared at them in their vase, cried, wailed, gnashed your little teeth and yelled, “But dey’re mine. MY BOWERS.”
Thereafter you got your own bouquet of flowers on our trips the market. After taking this picture I decided it was the best $3 ever spent on anything. Ever.
Recently you’ve decided to give me all your boogers, and in addition, you’ve also decided to help me pick my own. My therapist has often told me I have problems establishing boundaries. I’m usually OK with people all up in my business, past the point of acceptable, but this goes beyond even my comfort level.
“No, Jane. I can pick my own boogers,” I’ll tell you.
“But I hep you mommy,” you respond, finger poised for my nostrils, ready to attack bats in the cave.
You are coming into your own, my sweet girl. Your opinions, your moods, your expressions, your ideas… they are authentic and all your own. You’ve learned to stick up for yourself, you’ve forced us to watch Lady and the Tramp twenty kabillion times, and you are so sweet to Mabel, despite the fact that she totally despises you (luckily you don’t realize it). You are trying so hard to grow up, to be big, and to wear your purple tulle skirt every single day.
We are so proud of you. We love you just the way you are, booger picking and all.