I Spy with my Little Eye

I Spy is one of the games G likes to play in the car.  I have no idea who taught him the game, but he'll declare, "I spy with my yittle eye something..." and we take turns. 

Now the trick to playing with my three-year-old is to spy something very obvious or in the car.  He can be a slow guesser, so if I pick something outside the car, we may pass it before he guesses it.  I don't want to coddle the boy and just tell him he's right at the first thing he guesses.  I keep encouraging him until he guesses what I'd truly spied.  Today, I was really smart and spied the gray truck ahead of us. 

"I spy with my little eye something gray," I announced proudly.  We were on a long road, so he'd have plenty of time to guess.

In a fraction of a second he guessed, "Yours hair?"

Leave it to a preschooler to be honest.  He was about 20% correct.  I am in my mid-thirties, but there is a lot of gray in my hair.  I was dying it, but the roots were always showing, and my hair was thinning, so I stopped.  My hair is happier for it, and honestly, I don't think it's all that noticeable. 

When my mom was graying in her thirties, we'd remind her, "Gray hair is a crown of splendor."  I'd meant it.  Well, that crown isn't always a fun hand-me-down.  It's a reminder that I'm not as young as I once was.  Then again, I'm also not as high-strung or heartbroken as I once was, either.  Being a grownup has its privileges: I don't worry as much about what people think.  I'm happy with the friends I have.  There are many I don't see often, but know they would support me and I them if needed.  I get to laugh at my children's antics, and pick out dinner.  I guess if I Spy what my life is now, the gray is pretty ok!