After hearing me give some orders to the Colonel along the lines of bring home a Swiffer if you ever want to stop picking up black crap on your feet walking barefoot in the kitchen, Private 3 (age 5) says:
Hey, Mom. Getting a Swiffer? Yep. Good. They say it’s a dust magnet.
There they go again. And now the 5 year old’s in on it.
We just bought our oldest son a pair tennis shoes that fit ME. They fit me. Me. My feet. All I can see are those itty bitty toes I kissed those very early weeks and months. Long before they started stinking like a water treatment plant.
My boy’s feet are becoming a man’s. I knew it would happen. But. It still hurts my feelings. Grace in your journey, Private One. Grace for the road those men’s feet will travel.
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