The Girl has fallen in love with the Olympics. “Can I watch gymnastics tonight instead of reading before bed?” she asked last night. This morning, it’s the same. She has her favorites, but she’ll watch just about anything. Gymnastics, though, sends her into a hypnotic trance — at least as much as a hyper five-year-old slide into motionlessness.
After breakfast, she, K, and the Boy curl up to watch beach volleyball — not the Girl’s favorite, but she still chants “U-S-A!” endlessly.
It’s been an inspiring week for her. A week of growth. Rarely does she list “princess” as the first thing she wants to do with her life. Now the list includes gymnast, swimmer, dancer, and artist. Occasionally she adds “princess” to the mix,” but so many other things seem so much more interesting.
But I’m not really worried about that kind of mixing. She’ll have enough goal mixing as she grows up. I anticipate at least three different majors during her freshman year, now only thirteen years away. No, it’s the little things that thrill me more.
Things like stabbing a green bean and a piece of chicken onto the lunchtime fork in an effort to kill the bean taste. Or mixing rice and leftover chicken.