I love kids, mostly because everything has a different meaning with them. It's like reading a cheep novel: nothing's too complicated, everything ends up happy.
Our friend's daughter, Laura, walked around on her tippy-toes all day yesterday and I couldn't figure out for the life of me why. She's only about three years old and I didn't even notice she was standing on her tippy-toes at first, just that she seemed abnormally tall since we last saw her. Then I saw her later standing by a chair with her heels in the air and her face saying, “nothing abnormal about this!” Why was she doing that? Did her mom get a new pair of high-heels or something?
The next day it hit me when her mom pulled out a filmed production of The Nutcracker and, as the movie began, Laura began spinning around the room with her arms in the air.
“She wants to be a ballerina when she grows up,” her sister informed me.
“It's the eighth time we've watched this movie in two weeks,” added her Dad.
'Tis the season to become a ballerina.