Some Things Are The Same, Some Are Different

Let me just take you a little ways back.

There was a little girl, age six or seven, with big thick red glasses and a radical perm.

You guessed it, me.

Now for a little embarrassing story.

When I went to bed at night, I had the habit of digging for gold.  After discovering the jackpot, I used to deposit those green sticky boogers on my headboard.  One evening, after reading to me, my Dad discovered this hidden spot.  I sheepishly explained to him what it was and promised to utilize tissues from then on.

Fast forward to yesterday.

After sending Jack to his room for a time-out (for something to do with punching his brother), we were chatting on his bed about being kind, loving and respectful.  At the end of the conversation I noticed a booger in his nose.  I promptly picked it and was about to flick it onto the carpet (I vacuum, people).  Jack stopped me, "Oh, no, Mommy, you can just put it here."  He was pointing, very unabashedly, to the side of his bookshelf to a green sticky booger farm.