The fated day has arrived, and like most fated days, it has come in small, quiet steps, right up to one's door. In this case, it was to my knee, then my waist, then my shoulder, and now, past the top of my head. My youngest child is taller than me. It happened last night, sometime in the night between Wednesday and the early hours of rising and getting ready for our day. He went to bed under 5'3" (161cm) and woke up an inch over that mark. I swear.
It gave me pause, but not, I suspect, anyone else. They will continue to grow and celebrate each half inch, each victory and new experience along their path, and so will I, just from somewhere slightly lower in the atmosphere.
The "right way" to take a selfie, according to the one in the middle.
Our oldest in her very own apartment, Christmas tree and all.
As soon as I set my phone down anywhere in the vicinity of this one (either, actually)...this happens.
It looks like my phone camera is on its last useful legs, but if these amuse me, or you, they will do.
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