1. I tell Alec that his friend gets herself dressed in the morning. He takes it as a challenge and I must sit on my hands while he patiently untangles his T-shirt.
2. "Take lots off," I tell the hairdresser, gesturing.
"Not that short," she says. "It will sort of mushroom out. I'll take it to your jaw."
3. This afternoon it's my turn to do the nursery run. She's in the front garden waiting for us. "It's strange, isn't it. You're sort of... just doing nothing while they come back."
It's hard to put into words, or to even pin down the feeling, but I think it's that we are so used to moving our children from A to B that when they move themselves without us doing anything we miss the expected effort -- like when you overbrush your newly-cut hair, or overlift your newborn second child.