Fiona and I went uniform shopping for her new school today. She's so tall. She's so funny. She's so beautiful. She so badly wants to be independent. But I am not ready for her to be in first grade for 8 hours a day. My heart is breaking a little at the thought of this.
While baking the other day, Fiona and Neve asked if they could help. I know I should love cooking with them (and sometimes I do, when I'm feeling especially patient), but I often hide the fact that I'm baking from them to avoid their "help". Awful, I know. Before I had a chance to even tell them what their jobs would be or where to find the utensils, Fiona had round up all the measuring cups and spoons, and asked me if I needed baking soda or baking powder. They both took on the recipe, almost completely without my help. It was the first time I really noticed their capabilities. While I was so proud, I was also a little bit sad.
3 years ago exactly, Terry took a sharpie to our bedroom doorframe and measured the girls' heights. I was a little annoyed (we already had a growth chart hanging in their room that had never been marked), but didn't say anything. After months and now years of more marks, it's one of my favorite spots in our house.
Terry is prepared to replace the doorframe if and when we move, and take this one with us.
