I suppose one could call out to the three year old with the dozen eggs traipsing around outside in nothing but her swimsuit on a chilly October day to be careful.
But I don’t.
I’m not that kind of parent.
She knows all about broken eggs. She knows what breaks them and what to do with the broken ones. She’s been there and she’s done that.
And after a few run-ins with thistles, raspberry canes and other less desirable things, she knows how to watch what she’s stepping on.
And as for the swimming suit, all you grandmas out there shivering just looking at her, will be glad to know that after an hour or so she told me she was going inside to warm up.
I could tell her to be careful.
But I won’t.