Josie just handed me my breakfast, a bowl of "Easy Oatmeal Surprise" from the kids' cookbook "Pretend Soup." I think I'm going to like having older kids, because this is delicious. I'm eating spoonfuls between sentences.
Josie turns 9 on Saturday. She came downstairs today, very chic in a pink denim skirt, faux layered top in two pink prints, powder blue socks and matching Chuck Taylors, and a bright pink scrunchie in her hair. She looked about 22 years old to me, and I immediately began googling area convent schools and shotgun retailers.
I was reading a book this morning with lots of Victorian illustrations of chubby little children, and I realized with a pang that I have no little children in the house any more, really, at least not chubby ones. Louisa has lost the last of her baby "chubbuss" as we call it. No more little rolls here and there or round cheeks. A couple of days ago I was looking at her legs as they were thrown across my lap and I was stunned: They were as skinny as her sister's! At first I was worried she was unwell but then I realized she's just sprouted an inch or more lately.
There's certainly nothing wrong with her lungs. She's outside wailing that she doesn't like the breakfast sister cooked...
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