It was a morning like any other normal morning in our house. I was running around trying simultaneously to get dressed (and to match my clothes none the less. I’ve been known to leave the house in at least one, accidental, outlandish item that I must rock with confidence for the rest of the day, full on knowing it was a fashion blunder due to my inattention in the mornings….), finish my hair, dress the boys, make some lunches, change the cartoon channel at least once, and feed the dog — at the same time. As I finally plopped down on the couch to pull on “my” socks, Quentin looked at me sideways.
“Mooooom,” he calmly asked. “Are those Daddy’s socks?” When I want to wear boots, I’ll often steal my husbands tall, grey argyle socks. I love them. It drives him crazy that I wear them, but I do it anyways. “Yes,” I said as I continued to pull them on. “Does he know you are wearing them?” he pressed. “Nope,” I responded with a smile. He squinted his eyes slightly and smile danced across his face. He raised his little eyebrows, “You are like a ninja” he whispered. With that he turned and walked away, but not with one final parting comment. With his back turned he said “You are verrrry sneaky.”
I laughed out loud. I was stunned and somewhat proud at the same time. To be called a ninja is a very high compliment in my mind, especially coming from a 5 year old boy. How sweet and innocent. He compares my stealthy sock stealing with the qualities of a ninja. Oh the innocence of a young creative mind….