“When you are 99, you’re still going to be running,” my 8-year-old says to me out-of-the-blue before I head out for a 5 o’clock run. I nod my head, ponytail bobbing and eyes twinkling, yes.
“If you get old and can’t read anymore, I am going to come to your house and read you stories.” Please do.
“I’m going to remember that you love to read and you love to travel.” Perfect.
Remember, too, how much I adore you.