It's hard to be five!

We were chatting with a little girl at gymnastics today.  She was telling us she is four.  I told her that Holly just turned five. 

Holly said, "Yeah, it's hard to be five."

It's hard to be five.  I have to do soooo many Big Girl things.

I could hear the capital B G in her voice and started taking notes.

I have to buckle my own seat belt, take a shower, and wipe my own poop. (I'd SURE like to see this one happen.)  I have to put my own socks on by myself which I don't do very well.  It's hard cleaning up your own room, trying to draw pictures, and remembering names -- sometimes I accidentally call Jessica Olivia and Olivia Jessica.   It's hard doing school when you're five, because the teachers make you do more things.

Wow!  Should I tell her that it's just as hard to remember names when you're rolling towards 40?  And that I too am starting to hate putting on my own socks?  Oh, and don't even get me started about cleaning things up.

I want to be four again.

But if you're four, you can't take ski school, you have to be five.

Ok, I'll be five, but could you just put my socks on for me?

No can do sister, no can do.  This is offically a put your own darn socks on zone.