Kitchen Stools

If you notice a lack of editing–or posting–this week, it is because RJ is here to visit.  His grandpa and I are enjoying this.  He talks almost all the time and moves CONSTANTLY. RJ really likes my kitchen stool and will find a reason to sit on it.  He wants to eat his breakfast at the counter, and last night he helped me with dishes (until I couldn't stand any more water on the floor.) 

I also liked kitchen stools at one time.  When I was two, we moved to apartments.  We lived there when until I was four and a half.  One of my earliest memories is sitting on the kitchen stool of my mom's friend, Ethel.  There was, at times, a cookie involved in my sitting there, but most of the time I liked it because I was included.  Ethel only had one child, a son, and he was much older than I was.  She liked spoiling little girls, and I liked being part of things.

I guess, in some respects at least, the wants and needs of kids don't change much. 

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