Independence

Fiona is old enough now to want to do just about everything for herself (well, except clean up after herself). We have to leave the room when she gets into the bath because She Can Do It Herself. Don't you dare open the lid to the toothpaste, not when She Can Do It Herself. Don't help her with the buckle on her sandals: She Can Do It Herself. You get the idea.

Of course, there are also things that Fiona insists she can do that we're certainly NOT going to let her do, which leads to inevitable meltdowns. While I was installing the air conditioner in the living room last week Fiona wanted to put the wood blocks out on the ledge. With pictures of myself having to hop a fence to get into the alley below running through my mind, I refused. She didn't take it well.

And let's not even get started on all those times she's wanted to help with dinner when we're still in the chopping onions phase of preparation.

This morning she told me (not for the first time) that she wanted to walk to preschool by herself. I refused and she asked why she couldn't. I told her that she was too young to be crossing the street by herself.

"But David walks to preschool by himself!" she replied.

David is 3 1/2 and seems it. Your typical 3 1/2 year old can get lost figuring out how to get from the carpet to the linoleum. I told Fiona I found that hard to believe.

"He does! I saw him!" she replied.

I know I'm going to enjoy these days, when the white lies are so flimsy. Somehow I doubt that when she's 15 she'll try to convince me to extend curfew by telling me one of her friends gets to go out on Friday night and is fine as long as he checks in by sometime on Sunday.