We had some little friends over today, including a darling 2-year-old named Carrie. As I was helping Carrie slip into her sparkly white sandals, Willa looked at me and said, "Mom, I want shoes." Now, Willa is nearly 17-months-old, and she is a Tillemann-Dick, so I was impressed but not flabbergasted with her short but grammatically correct utterance. And, since Willa has NEVER shown the SLIGHTEST interest in bipedal mobility (which, at nearly 17-months, is a bit crazy -- even for a Tillemann-Dick), it's true that I seldom put her in shoes of any sort. So, I told her as much. "Willa," I said, "when you start walking, I'll get you shoes." She looked at me with resignation, and replied with her standard, unenthusiastic "okaaaaaay."
Then, she stood up and took three, very deliberate, steps. Then she did it again.
So I ordered her some shoes.
****
In the car this afternoon, Hettie and I had the following conversation:
H: Mom, is Tom my uncle?
K: Nope. He's Mercina's boyfriend. Maybe they'll get married, and then he'd be your uncle.
H: So, you can just marry who you want to, as long as he's not your uncle or brother or cousin?
K: Well, it's a very important decision, so you have to think about it very carefully. But yes, you get to choose who you marry.
H: So, when I grow up and I'm an astronaut, I can marry Tom? If Mercina doesn't marry him first?
K: Ummmmm...
H: How long is Mercina going to be in Canada?
****
Also, I know it's not really responsible, but I kind of hope Phineas becomes a dancer.
The end.
