My daughter has my impetuous streak; yesterday, she opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of white wine, and smashed it on the floor.
On other mornings, she is eager to go outside; she throws a tantrum if the door remains locked. I'm torn in these moments. I'd like Susie to make use of the toys available to her. But I don't want her to be docile; I admire the fighting spirit. I think of Barbra Streisand:
Each step I take, each page I turn...
Each mile I travel only means the more I have to go.
What's wrong with wanting more?
Susie tries to feed me, and she gets impatient if I don't open my mouth. She grabs her stuffed dog and buries its snout in peanut butter. Sometimes, she points at things (we can't really tell the intention), and she gives a long, reasonable lecture in a foreign tongue.
We're reviewing:
*"Little White Rabbit." (The story of my life.)
*"Oh My, Oh My, Oh Dinosaurs!" (As great as its title.)
*""Goldilocks," about a strong-willed little girl.
Happy reading.
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