So this morning Emma Grace and I were discussing hair color. She, ever wanting, for the time being, to be like me, wanted to color her hair brown. Brown. Imagine! She, whose hair flows beyond all reason from her head in the most stunning blond, wants brown hair.
I Discouraged this. And anyway, I am not going to use hair color on a four-year-old.
Everett piped up from the sofa: “Emma! Color your hair red!”
And William, from the piano bench: “Yeah! Red hair is hot!”
Shock and immediate looks in his direction. Looks from his father and me that must have Encouraged Elaboration.
“Not ‘hot’ like you’re on fire,” he said, simply and unaffected. “Hot like … the other kind of hot.”
Oh?
He shrugged and smiled and said, “I can’t explain it.”
I should hope not.
