My youngest thanked me for her pancakes which were topped with peanut butter and maple syrup. She put the peanut butter away and then said to me, “Mom, peanut butter is my fashion.”
“Yeah my fashion.” She nods.
“Fashion is the kind of clothes you wear. You don’t wear peanut butter.”
“But fashion also means things you like, things that are great,” she says it with the same tone that I just used but with a bit more poor-misguided-fool for emphasis.
I thought about it for a moment, watched her skate across the kitchen floor in her sock feet. “Do you mean passion? Peanut butter is your passion?”
“Yeah, passion. That’s what I meant.”
She is almost nine now and still loves peanut butter. Currently best on vanilla ice cream.