Every night, our little family climbs into Paul's and my king sized bed for stories. Ian jumps upon the mattresses with book in hand, crawls past my feet and suddenly stops. "Mommy, I want that."
I follow his gaze to see what he's looking at. He's staring at my feet.
"What, Ian? What do you want?" I inquire.
"Mommy, I want that," he replies, pointing at my big toe.
My toenails are not painted, so I'm not exactly sure what he means yet.
Confused, I ask again, "Ian, what do you want?"
"I want that," and he touches the bottom of my big toe. "I want those lines."
Ugh, he wants to have calloused, scaly feet like mine. Yup, it's definitely time for a serious pedicure.