I've decided something.
I don't post even a smidge enough photos of myself here on my blog. At this rate, the book that this blog will someday become might only have a measly 4 snapshots of me...out of 3,000. (Have you noticed I prefer using the numbers 4 & 3 when I exaggerate?) And when my children are 25 and I'm--gulp--50, I definitely don't want them thinking I was never young, or wrinkless, or sagless. (Alright, so I'm hoping that doesn't come until at least 80.) And I know I wish my mother would have taken/saved/kept track of more pictures of her during her punky youth. I know she was a cute little spitfire. So, watch out! I'm makin' a change.
Here I am*. In my punky youth, at the young age of 29. Holding our first born, Julia, at an even younger age of 3.5. And while we're on the topic. Do you know what this stinker said to me today? I was giving her the Reminder Talk as I unloaded the dishwasher this evening and she sat at the island coloring a picture for her cousin, Kendall. It was the talk about why she gets consequences and why she gets privileges. The talk about why things happened today the way they did and how things could have been different. Towards the end of the chat, I said to her:
Julia, another reason why mommy wants you to always tell the truth is because when you're my age, not telling the truth causes for a much bigger and worse consequence.
And then out of the mouth of this 3.5 year old came...
Yea, and when I'm your age, you'll be reeeeeallly old.
Sheesh! What are we talking about here?
*in the reflection of our back curtainwall on the walk-out basement level