Painted Nails

The other day I was painting my nails in the car, alone with my thoughts for a second. Wait - you're wondering why I was painting my nails in the car? Because I wanted red nail polish for our Christmas party, and when I dug out my 9 year old red nail polish from the cupboard, it was a clumpy mess - imagine that. So since I needed to run out to the store to buy some anyway, I got the brilliant idea to sit and paint my nails in the car, to avoid being pestered by 30 little fingers that would want to be painted too.

Anyway, I digress. Back to the moment of painting.

As I looked down at my glimmering red nails, I thought to myself: "Aww that's sad, Asher will never be able to paint his own nails".

And then I thought to myself: "Oh well, that's what the spa is for".

Then I thought: "Oh I'm a bit jealous actually, that would be nice to have to go to the spa any time you want your nails painted".

And then I finally thought: "Oh wait -- he's a boy". Truly, it took me that long through this conversation I was having with myself to realize the inability to paint his own nails might not pose a real problem for Asher.

Clearly I accept my son for exactly who he is, in this case an imaginary man who goes to the spa to get his nails done!