Rachel Is Changing...And It's Probably Her Shirt

Rachel is growing up quickly. Every day, she can read more words and she is not even six yet! It has reached the point where we can no longer spell in front of her. There is a good chance she will figure out the topic of conversation.

One thing that has not changed, however, is her ability to get food stains on her clothing. The chance of that happening is directly related to whether she is wearing her school uniform. If she happens to be wearing a white shirt from The Davis Academy, the odds are overwhelming that either a lemonade stain or various chocolate stains will wind up on it.

Other prior certainties in her life are no longer sure things. Tonight, I heard her switch off the nightlight in her room. She said she is no longer scared of the dark and besides, she can still see the light from the adjacent bathroom. All of a sudden, the heretofore shunned crust on a slice of bread is no longer verboten. Up until now, mom and dad have been required to remove said crust before bread is to be eaten.

At age five and five-sixths, Rachel still doesn't have the edit mechanism you develop before you open your mouth and say something. Then again, I'm still waiting for mine to kick in. We play a game called the alphabet game, where we take turns naming words that begin with each letter of the alphabet. When we get to n, Rachel almost always says, "nose hair." Guilty! How I wish Rebecca hadn't said that a year and a half ago! It continues to haunt.

Tonight, I recited the letters o-l-d from a street sign. Rachel told me that spelled "old." She then related that she had gone to a store called "Olde Time Pottery" with her mom. They apparently bought a pillow and Rachel lay down on it. My wife has been known to take her time in stores like that. When I told Rachel that I didn't realize she had been there, she replied, "Believe me, I've been there! She inherited my patience...or lack thereof.

She is already looking toward a career. Tonight, she wants to be a police officer. She pantomimed directing traffic and said she wants to put bad guys in jail.

But my favorite conversation with her today was when I tried to describe how big nine feet is. "That is me standing up and another half of me on top of that," I tried to explain.

"How tall are you?" she asked.

"Six foot two," I replied. "74 inches. That is 32 inches tallen than your 42 inches.'

"I am 42 inches," she acknowleged. "When I have my clothes on."