Today, my neighbor's children came over while she went to get her hair done. Her youngest, C, will be turning one next month, and she was pretty fussy after she was left here with me and my children. Una was really good about holding her and walking around with her to help her adjust for the first little while. Then, Tres woke up from his nap and decided he needed to play with C.
Today I was sifting through all the clothing and pulling out clothes that were stained and torn, as well as clothing the children had outgrown. There was a huge pile of clothing to sort through, and an ever growing pile of clothes to donate. At one point, I pulled out a pink t-shirt and asked, "Whose is this?" Someone said it was Maryanne's, which couldn't have been true because it was a size 8. It wasn't her color anyway ... So I tossed it in the donate pile. (In hind sight, I now think my mom gave it to Maryanne for Christmas, and she said that she wasn't sure what size to get for Maryanne. Whoops on my part.) That's when Adam exclaimed that he wanted a pink shirt. Other children chimed in with, "It is his color." (Referring to his Dressing Your Truth type.) Adam bolted toward the donate pile and seized the shirt, promptly pulling it over his head and the collared shirt he had on. (Later he removed the collared shirt, after much cajoling from ...
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