My great joy recently has been the fact that Lydia wants to dress herself lately. She’s had the means before but not the inclination, leaving it up to Daddy to put her clothes on. She HAS, for some time, picked out her clothing, and I must say that she generally does a pretty good job coordinating her outfit, a skill she must have learned from her mother, not me. In fact, the only times I’ve ever vetoed her selection is if it is going to be too warm or, more recently, not warm enough.
I’m also pleased that she hads deigned to pick the top pair of underwear in her drawer rather than rumaging around to find underpants that match her outer outfit. After all, people are not going to SEE her undergarments, are they?
This is not to say that she doesn’t need help with some things. When her clothes are washed inside out and remain that way when they go to the drawer, she needs assistance. And some buttons are still tricky.
But for the most part, it’s “Daddy, go away! I can dress myself!” And that’s fine with me; actually gives me a chance to check my e-0mail in the morning.
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She has had a tough week, though. On Monday, she fell on the ice in front of our own house. The snow had melted, and it tends to gravitate to the sidewalk. Then it got cold and the water turned to black ice. She didn’t cry, but she was sore.
Then last night, she did cry after falling off the stool she uses to brush her teeth. Coincidentally, I had to use ice to tend to her almost-immediately visible bruise.
Careful, Lydia.
ROG