When You Are Four

When you are four, the world looks a little different than it does to a grown up. I sometimes forget that. For example, when you are four, you might, say, tell your preschool class that your mom is going to have a new baby. Named Rose. Because when you are four, anything might happen if you just say it, or think it. (Not going to happen, sorry kid).

You might take one of the cameras off the desk and head off around the house to take photos, from that waist high paint of view of yours.
The underside of the desk.
The cat looking not very pleased at being disturbed,
daddy's mouse,
mom taking a picture of you,
taking a picture of her.

Or, you might squeal with glee over a new batch of pink playdoh with pink glitter kneaded in. You might even use that playdoh to try to make ear imprints.
Or lick it. (It tastes gross, but you don't have to take my word for it) Of course, that playdoh might be fun even when you are eight, but only until your fried comes over from next door. Then, you are much more inclined to hole up in a darkened room building Hex Bug habitats with just a night lite on, blasting Madonna from an ipod. Because when you are eight you are much cooler.

It's easy to get caught up in life and forget how amazing the world is, even little things. Like heater vents. SO it's nice to have a four year old around to take pictures of her nostrils or the floorboards, because it's good to remember the wonder of life. Of course, it's also nice to have an eight year old around to remind you that Madonna is still kinda awesome.