Stinky has shot up like a weed, again. He's already head and shoulders above the rest of his preschool class (I mean that literally, though- not in the way that's insulting to the other kids), but still skinny enough that he wore 18-24 month shorts this summer. As it always happens, he suddenly shot straight up and I noticed that most of his pants were high watering. Our weather had been in the teens, and I felt bad for his poor freezing ankles.
(Have I mentioned that December is a month with two birthdays and then Christmas? Congrats, Stinky, you get warm ankles for your birthday! Though, socks will be filling his stocking this year, I think. Where do they go? )
I set out to find a few new pairs- three thrift stores later, I found only a few pairs in his size that were way more than I was willing to pay for their condition. Deciding to just go buy new out of necessity (freezing ankles!), I took two pairs to the register, and they rang up at a third of the price. I started to say something, then thought better. Leaving the bag in the cart, I ran to the back of the store to find one more pair and ran through the lines again.
Bragging later to WBH, he asked "And you didn't feel like mentioning it to the checker?"
"Nope. Heavenly Father winked at me today, and I'm not going to shoot that down."