This is what happens when a four-year-old has been praised a little too heartily for his recent independence. The buckling his own car seat I love; the bicycle helmet worn as a fashion accessory and the clothespins clipped all over a belly-baring undershirt, I can do without. At this rate, he's fast becoming the Napolean Dynamite of the preschool set.
He did melt a few hearts today as we entered the Fresh Market this morning. He shooed me away from the carts, carefully choosing one himself. "No, no, Mama. You don't need to lift a finger. Let me do all the pushing for you," he gallantly insisted.
The crowd of ladies in the floral department sighed in unison. As soon as we rounded the coffee display, he let me in on his true intentions. "You know, if I'm driving the cart, I can speed right past the vegetables and get to the cookie counter a whole lot quicker."