The Grateful Mama

“Math is tough.”

Mattel’s talking Barbie

I’m fortunate enough to be writing a monthly column for Our Big Earth, a fabulous local blog that serves our community of young families well.  This past Saturday, OBE published my Barbie-Buyer’s Remorse article, and it was met with a wide variety of comments. (To view the article, follow this link: http://www.ourbigearth.com/2010/03/13/buyer’s-remorse-facing-the-barbie-dilemna/comment-page-1/#comment-6761)  It got me thinking about Barbie once again, and, at the risk of alienating those of you who have had your fill of ‘doll-talk’, I decided to provide you with an update.

It had been more than a month since I had given our Barbies away, when Pip asked, “Mama, you know who we haven’t seen in awhile?  Barbie.  Do you know where she is?”  (How foolish I was to think that I had gotten away with Barbie-napping and the mysterious disappearance of the high-heeled shoes!)  For a brief moment I considered pleading ignorance, but I knew I would have to face the music at some point, so I decided to come clean.

“Pip, I gave your Barbie away because I didn’t think she was a good toy for you to have.”  Sugar-coating is not my style.

“But why Mama?”  This wasn’t going to be easy, and Pip caught me completely unprepared.  How was I going to articulate my feelings in a way that a three-year-old would understand?

“Barbie doesn’t look like a real grown-up woman looks,”  I began, finding fault with my reasoning as it was coming out of my mouth.  Pip’s ‘Fisher Price Little People’ don’t look like real people, but they are appropriate toys, as are all of the stuffies that fill her toy shelves.  Despite my lack of conviction, I forged ahead with something like, “Barbie can’t really do much; she can’t even stand up on her own because of her high-heeled shoes.”  Not only was my argument flawed, I clearly should NOT have mentioned the shoes.

“Did you give away my high-heel shoes too, Mama?”  Rats.

“Yes, Sweetie, I did, because those shoes were not safe.  You kept slipping and falling down whenever you wore them.  Your Dad and I decided that they were just too dangerous.  You still have your beautiful Ruby Red Slippers, though.”

To be honest, Pip was taking all of this better than I had anticipated.  She wasn’t crying.  She didn’t even seem terribly upset or surprised.  There was definitely a lot going on in her little mind, but she was quite calm as she processed the information I was giving her.  (I like to think that she appreciated my honesty.)

If I remember correctly, she did toss out the occasional whine: “But I liked Barbie,” and, “I bought them with my own money!”   In the end, she actually gave me a hug and said, “Mama, even though you gave away my Barbie and my high-heel shoes, I still love you.”

“Thanks Pip,” I said.  I was genuinely relieved.  Our talk had gone a lot better than I had imagined, and it had nothing to do with me.

Now, I realize that many of you disagree with my concerns about Barbie, but I did a little research this time around, and I found a study called, ‘Does Barbie Make Girls Want to Be Thin? The Effect of Experimental Exposure to Images of Dolls on the Body Image of 5-8 Year Olds.’  Author Suzan Ive states, “dolls provide a tangible image of the body that can be internalized as part of the child’s developing self-concept and body image.”

It was found that girls’ desire for thinness emerges around age 6 and that dolls like Barbie, because of their iconic status, are likely to act as salient role models, at least for very young girls. Ives states in the Discussion and Conclusion section of her research, “[Findings] showed that very young girls experience heightened body dissatisfaction after exposure to Barbie doll images but not after exposure to Emme doll (or control) images.” In other psychological studies in the past, it has similarly been found that children who play violent video games are later proven to be more aggressive, even though they are merely playing a “game” and not reenacting reality.

I played with Barbies as a young girl.  I had the Malibu Barbie Camper, a wonderful wardrobe for my dolls, and of course lots of accessories.  I loved my Barbies, but I would have had just as much fun with dolls that  represented a more realistic body shape.  It has been said that, if Barbie were a real human being, she would be seven feet tall, have an 18” waist and weight 110 lbs!!!

It’s hard to know how much of an impact those dolls had on my own body image, but I definitely went through a stage of unhealthy eating in order to maintain an unrealistic weight.  I was pursuing an acting career at the time, and at 5’10” and 120 lbs, I had an agent who told me that I could stand to lose some weight!  The sad thing is, I didn’t laugh in his face, I ate melba toast instead.

I don’t want to rob my daughters of the fun I had dressing-up and playing with dolls, but I want to be wise in selecting their toys.  That’s why I was delighted to discover the ‘Only Hearts Club Dolls.’

They’re available at our local toy store, Whales Tales.  I like them because their bodies remind me of my five-year-old niece: no boobs, no waist, no make-up…and they wear SNEAKERS!!!  The dolls still have long hair to play with, and there are an array of clothes and accessories, but I think they’re a great compromise.  Best of all, none of the dolls say, “Math is tough.”  (What on earth was Mattel thinking?)

“Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy.”

~Leo Buscaglia

I’ve never been a worrier.  Loved ones have traveled to faraway places, friends have been involved in dangerous sports, my husband has climbed mountains and rafted down treacherous rivers, and I haven’t worried.  Now my daughters go for a bike ride with their dad and I sigh with relief when they return.

What is that?

This morning I woke up feeling tired.  I always know I’m overtired when I  can cry at the drop of a hat.  Show me a Tim Horton’s commercial when I haven’t had enough sleep and my cheeks will be wet in thirty seconds.

At any rate, I was planning to go to a drum workshop and Big Daddy-O was in charge of the girls.  From the moment I found out he was planning to take them swimming, I started to worry.  How could he manage two little non-swimmers by himself?  Fig had only been to the pool a handful of times.  We’d always taken the girls together.  What was he thinking?  One daughter could easily sink while he was keeping the other afloat.  It was too dangerous.

I voiced my concerns, was reassured by my husband, then I kissed my daughters goodbye and jumped in the shower because I felt tears starting to sting my eyes.   I felt silly.  My husband used to be a lifeguard, my daughters would be wearing floatation devices; my feelings were completely irrational, but they existed nonetheless.

Is it normal to worry about your kids?  Of course it is, but it’s unproductive, and terribly uncomfortable.  I don’t feel like myself when I’m having thoughts of my daughters drowning at the local pool.  It’s dark and disturbing.  I don’t want to put that energy out into the universe, and I certainly don’t want it to impact the experiences my daughters enjoy in life.  The way I see it, it’s my problem, and I just have to deal with it.  I have to be stronger than the worry.  Any suggestions?

I remember my wonderful obstetrician, Dr. H, talking to me during my last visit before Pip was born.  He asked me if I had any questions or concerns, and I told him  that I was just worried about the baby.  I was worried about something going wrong.

He said, “Karen, it’s natural to worry.  And once your baby is safely in your arms, you’ll begin a lifetime of worrying about her.”  He was right.

“A person without a sense of humor is like a wagon without springs.  It’s jolted by every pebble on the road.”

Henry Ward Beecher

Sometimes I feel as though my home is a comedy club.  If you are currently raising young children who are of speaking age, you know what I mean.  Pip and Fig are constantly sending my husband and I into fits of giggles with their interpretations of the world.  I thought I’d just share a couple of them with you this week, and please feel free to contribute your own zingers.

The girls received fairy costumes for Christmas and they probably ask to wear them every other day.  My husband and I were in the living room when the two girls came around the corner holding hands and Pip said, “We’re two fairies and we’re going to get married.”

Big Daddy-O smirked and I gave him a, ‘Don’t say what you’re thinking,’ look.

“I’ll perform the ceremony for you fairies,” I said, “What are your names?”

“Well, my fairy-name is Desert Rose,” said Pip with a flourish.

“Whoaaaaaa,” said Big Daddy-O.

“That’s a beautiful name!” said I, “and what about your sister?”

“Her name is Clock.”

******

Pip loves music, and she is drawn to any television show that contains music, whether it be The Wizard of Oz or the opening ceremonies for the Olympics.  There is one half-hour show on Treehouse that she enjoys called, ‘Yo Gabba Gabba,’ and it’s like a mini-musical.  The host is a DJ and they sometimes have guest-stars.  The episode that Pip asks for repeatedly, (we have a PVR,) is the one where Jack Black appears as a lost motorcyclist, and sings his way through the many emotions of being lost in a foreign place and then finding new friends.  If you’re a fan of Jack Black’s you’d love this show.  He’s hilarious.

Now that you have the back-story, you’ll appreciate this little exchange:

Pip: “Mama, do you know what my new summer jacket does?”

Me: “What?”

Pip: “IT COVERS MY BUM!”

Me: “Wow, isn’t that great?”

Pip: “I have a coincidence Mama.  It’s just like Jack on Yo Gabba Gabba.  Jack’s shirt covers his bum and my jacket covers my bum.”

Me: “Nice.”

Pip: “Jack’s bum is bigger than my bum.”

Me: “Yes it is.”

Pip: “I wonder how big it is now.”

Me: “Jack’s bum or your bum?”

Pip: “Jack’s bum.”

******

Big Daddy-O was driving the girls to the market when Pip said, “Daddy, I wish that you could put a seat in between Fig and I and you could sit in the back seat with us.”

“That’s sweet Pip.  Do you miss me when I’m sitting in the front seat?”

“No. I just wish you could pass us stuff.”

“Pip, that’s called a butler.”

“If you ever catch on fire, try to avoid seeing yourself in the mirror, because I bet that’s what REALLY throws you into a panic.”

Jack Handy

I’m feeling a new type of gratitude today.  It’s web-host love.

I had a bit of a ‘web incident’ or ‘wincident’ on Friday.  During an attempt to create a brand new web-site for my blossoming photography business, I inadvertently removed my ‘Grateful Mama’ site from the world-wide-web.  That’s right.  I deleted this entire blog in one click of the keyboard.  It disappeared completely and I honestly thought I would never see it again.

I’m quite inexperienced when it comes to the technical aspects of designing and maintaining a blog, and I had no idea if my website host, ‘Justhost,’ would have a back-up of my entire site.  After I sent an email to ‘Justhost’ for support, I received a generic response saying they’d get back to me within the hour.  Great.  I felt so helpless.  I kept typing in the ‘Grateful Mama’ url to see if it would magically reappear, but it was futile.  I had done some major damage.

I contacted a local Technological Wizard at my mother’s urging.  (Thankfully, my mom had been here looking after the girls while I worked on my new website.  She kept Pip and Fig occupied while I tried to hide my despair!)  Mom was certain that a back-up would exist, but The Wizard just said, “Ouch,”  when I explained exactly what I had done.  He was sympathetic, but there was an awkward silence at the end of the line when I reported that I hadn’t backed-up my files.

During the hour that I was blog-less, I was surprised at the physical reaction I had.  Nausea descended upon me, and I felt as though I was back in my first trimester of pregnancy.  It wasn’t so much losing the site itself that made me feel ill; I have put hours into its’ creation, but it could be re-done.  It was the thought of losing all of the stories.  I’ve been writing for almost a year now, and I know that there is no way I could possibly remember the topics of 105 posts.  I thought of how the girls seem to be changing every day, and it felt as though I hadn’t just deleted a website, I had deleted my memories.

I also wondered, during that hour, if I would be able to start from scratch.  I wondered if I’d have the desire to do it all again, or if I would do things differently.  I’ve learned a lot since last April, when I first began ‘The Grateful Mama.’  My dream was to generate some income for our family through writing and photography.  I’m starting to realize that dream, but only when I write for, or photograph others. This site hasn’t generated a dime.

Yet I love it.  It’s a thrill to connect with women in this way, and I know that I’d feel a piece of me was missing if it suddenly disappeared.

That was about the point when my more evolved-self took over and said to my frantic-self,  ”Wait a minute, Karen.  It’s reality-check time.  People are more important than things.  You may have lost your stories about your girls, but YOU HAVE YOUR GIRLS!!!  Even if it turns out that the site is lost forever, you will still feel like a whole, complete person with her beautiful memories in tact.”

As soon as I came to that realization, I calmed down.  And as soon as I calmed down, I received this in my inbox:

Hi Karen

You have completely corrupted your account by deleting all system config files from the root directory, you should never perform any actions outside of public_html/ that is a folder where all site’s files are to reside,

I have just restored your account from the backup we have created on Feb 16,

–

–

Kind regards,

Alexey Bryan,

Just Host

I  immediately typed www.thegratefulmama.com and THERE IT WAS!!!!  THE GRATEFUL MAMA HAD BEEN RESTORED!!!  I typed a note to Alexey Bryan of JUSTHOST, professing my love for him and his entire web-hosting company.

Although I was emotionally exhausted after the hour of losing my site, (pun intended,) I was thankful for the experience, because it reminded me of a few very important things:

First and foremost; BACK IT UP!!!!

Second, people are more important than things.

And third, this blog has become a meaningful part of my life.  Whether it’s lucrative or not, I love it.  And that’s a good enough reason to keep it going.

Your child will be better prepared to tackle the bumps on the road of life if he has been given the gift of guided independence.

Jacquie McTaggart

Pip is thoroughly enjoying pre-school.    I lingered a bit longer than usual one morning when dropping Pip off, and she came up to me and said, “Mama, why are you staying here so long?”  She wanted me to leave.  She enjoys her time in the magical world of Daisytree.  She has been known to utter the words, “I love my school,” as we leave the little door of her pre-school behind us and head for the car.

During the drive home I typically ask Pip about her morning.  One morning last week our conversation went like this, “What did you do at school this morning?”

“Well, I wanted to play Castle with Annie and Mavis, but they kept saying I was a bat.”

“What do you mean?”

“They were both princesses and they’d look at me and say, ‘Oh No! There’s a bat!’  and I told them I was not a bat, but they still said it.”

“Hmm,” said I, “that must have been frustrating.  Did you ask Lily (the teacher) for help?”

“No.”

At this point in Pip’s story I was already contemplating a discussion with Pip’s teacher.  Because Pip is such a sensitive creature, I sometimes fear that she won’t speak up for herself when she is in an uncomfortable situation.  When I was a classroom teacher, I always encouraged parents to come to me if their child was unhappy about something that had happened in class.  My philosophy was that I would rather nip a situation in the bud instead of having a child feel anxious about something.

At the same time, I want to encourage Pip to find her own voice.  My job as a parent is to help Pip become independent, and even at the tender age of three, she needs to know that her father and I believe in her.

Back in the car, I asked Pip how she had felt when the girls called her a bat.

“I didn’t like it, Mama.”

“I can understand that, Pip.  So what did you do?”

“I left the castle and played with Tim.”

I was ecstatic with this turn of events, but I tried to curb my enthusiasm, “And did you enjoy playing with Tim?”

“Yup,” Pip finished.

PERFECTION.  Pip handled the situation beautifully.  She spoke up for herself, then left the scene when her friends weren’t playing in a way that she enjoyed.  It was far better than asking a teacher to intervene.  Pip’s finding her voice.  One experience at a time.

“Like bees, they must put their lives into the sting they give.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

It’s near the end of January.  We shouldn’t hear frogs croaking at night.  Little buds shouldn’t be appearing on plants in our garden, and we most definitely shouldn’t be in the company of bees.

My daughters typically like to run around the house barefoot.  I love my cozy slippers, but they apparently like the feel of the floor under their feet.  To be honest, I think the girls slip and fall with greater frequency when they wear ’slippers,’ (aptly named,) so I don’t mind that their feet are usually bare.  Do you know what’s coming?

Wonderful Big-Daddy-O built a foot-locker for our laundry-room.  We should really call it a ‘multi-purpose’ room because besides the washer and dryer, it contains our dog’s bed, a stash of wood for the fireplace, and it serves as one big closet with a wide variety of shoes, jackets, and other outdoor-garments strewn about.  Needless to say, keeping the room tidy was a challenge.  Thus, I put in a request for some shoe-shelves, and voila…my handy husband delivered!

It was an exciting moment in our household when the shelves were finally erected and secured to the wall.  Pip, Fig and I joined Big Daddy-O in the ‘laundry-room’ for a ceremonial unveiling of our footwear’s new home.  We ‘oohed’ and ‘aaahed’ as Pip placed her bright pink rubber boots on one of the shelves.  Then it was Fig’s turn.  As she walked over to the shelves, my little barefoot beauty started crying.  She walked back toward me and the crying escalated to screaming.

“Fig, what’s wrong?”  She distraught and couldn’t get a word out.  I looked down at her feet and saw something brown; I assumed it was a bit of mud that had been tracked in from outside.  ”Oh, is it this dirt that’s bothering you?”  Fig was now screaming.  Upon closer examination, I realized that no, it was not dirt stuck to her foot;  it was a bee !!!  A fuzzy, dozey, lazy bee that had fastened himself to Fig’s baby toe.  I flung it away and examined Fig’s toe.  She had been stung alright, (luckily the bee took his stinger with him,) and she was really starting to feel it.

Into the kitchen we went, to mix a concoction of baking soda and water.  Fig hated it, but I like to believe it helped.  It took thirty minutes of cuddles before the tears completely subsided.   She’d calm down for a bit and then a fresh wave of tears would emerge.  I felt so badly for her.  It wasn’t fair.  At least when it’s summer-time and you’re outside enjoying a barefoot romp in the grass, bug bites and stings are somewhat justified.  The indoor sting in the middle of winter made no sense whatsoever.  Dumb bee.

Fig has recovered from the sting, in fact, it has become something of a badge of honour.  Now, when we read, “Time for Bed,” by Mem Fox, Fig grabs her pinky-toe when we get to the page about the bees.  ”Mama, bee sting… toe,” she says proudly.  ”Cry and cry and cry.”

“Yes, Sweetie.  You cried because that bee sting really hurt.”  I say.  And I’m suddenly thankful that we can’t remember pain; at least not the bee-sting variety.

(PS…I stand corrected; Big Daddy-O just informed me that it was a wasp that stung Fig.  You forgive me.)

“Fear grows in darkness; if you think there’s a bogeyman around, turn on the light.”

Dorothy Thompson

Recently, Pip has started asking for her light to be kept on when she goes to bed at night.  She thought the things in her room looked scary in the dark.  The night-light wasn’t illuminating enough, nor was the fun ladybug-light that shines coloured stars all over her room.  So, we accommodate her, hoping it’s just a stage.

I find it interesting that she slept in the dark for the first three years of her life and was completely content.  Could it be that, as she learns more about the world, her fears increase?

We purposely don’t have the news on in our home when the girls are awake, so our daughters know nothing about the earthquake in Haiti.  The other day at Pip’s pre-school, her teacher asked for parental permission to involve the children in a discussion about the situation in Haiti so that they could each bring in a Twoonie and contribute to a school-district-wide fundraiser.  I was glad to be asked, because I didn’t want Pip introduced to the idea of devastating natural disasters at this stage in her life.  Some kids might listen to words like ‘homeless’ and not internalize it, but my highly-sensitive child internalizes EVERYTHING.  At this stage, I don’t want to add ‘earthquakes’ to her list of fears.

So, I requested that the fund-raising discussion  involve something like, ‘children who need our help,’ and leave it at that.  Pip knows from our trip to donate toys in December that there are children who aren’t as fortunate as she is.

When I decided to write about this topic, I realized that I hadn’t had an in-depth discussion with Pip about sleeping with the light on.  We were having a little snuggle on her bed one afternoon and I said, “Pip, can you tell me about something?” as an introduction to my ‘fears’ chat.  Pip said,

“Sure Mama, I can tell you what I dreamed.”

“Okay,” I had a slightly different agenda, but I was curious.

“I had a dream that you and Daddy and Fig and I were all COW-GIRLS!!!  Well, there was one COW-GIRL-BOY.  That’s Dad.  And we all had horses and we would ride them and ride them.  But Fig isn’t really big enough to ride a horse yet, so we have to wait until Fig and I are mommies too.  Like you.  We’ll wait until we’re pregnant.  Then we’ll be cow-girls.”

I was laughing at this point, but Pip just carried on with her dreams of pregnant cow-girls and cow-girl-boys.  I suppose she’s used to me laughing a lot when she’s talking because it certainly doesn’t deter her.  Eventually we got around to talking about sleeping in the dark and she said that she was afraid of the shadows.  She couldn’t name exactly what she thought the shadows would do to her, or why she was afraid of them, but she was clearly uncomfortable discussing the possibility of sleeping in a darkened room.

“Let’s play camp-out Mama,” she said.  Believe it or not, one of Pip’s favourite games is to close the blinds and curtains in her room, take out the ladybug lamp that lights up the ceiling with stars, snuggle under a blanket with me or Fig or Daddy-O, turn off all the lights, and pretend we’re camping outside under a starry sky.   There, with the comfort of a warm body beside her, she isn’t aware of the scary shadows, she’s just in awe of the starry ceiling.

I just wanted to let you all know about a panel of professional photographers that is presenting tomorrow morning from 10am until 12 noon at the D’Esterre House in Comox.  Admission is $3.00 and all ages are welcome.  (Seniors get in free!)  I’m very honoured, and humbled to be one of the panelists, and will offer the perspective of someone just starting out in the photography business.

Hope to see you there!

“Kids: they dance before they know there is anything that isn’t music.”

William Stafford

My mom is a tap-dancer.  She taught me to dance when I was four years old, and before my daughter’s third birthday, Mom had given her a pair of tap-shoes.  Pip loves to don her shiny black shoes and dance around the house.  I’ve tried to teach her a step or two, but my attempts have been unsuccessful.

“Pip, see if you can make a sound with your toe-tap, and then lift it up right away, like this,”  I say, and Pip counters with:

“Mama, I like to do it like this!”  She then executes an exciting array of original footwork.  Watching Pip reminds me of an old colleague of mine, Joanie.  She was a fabulous singer, and she went on an audition once for a role in a musical.  The singing part of the audition went well, and Joanie was asked if she knew how to tap-dance.  ”Yes,” Joanie lied.  She was asked to bring her tap shoes to the call-back later on that day.   Joanie went out and purchased her first pair of tap shoes, then left the casting-director speechless when she performed her unique dance steps at the call back audition.  That takes guts.  Joanie didn’t get the part, but I like to think that the director admired her gumption.  I certainly did.

Not many adults are willing to risk looking like fools, but kids do it all the time.  There’s such freedom in innocence.  When Pip watches dancers, she has no idea that their numbers have been choreographed.  She doesn’t know that there are organized steps that tap-dancers learn, she just puts on her shoes and starts moving!  I asked Pip once if she’d like to take tap-dancing lessons.  ”Why, Mama?” she asked, “I already know how to tap-dance.”

It’s the same with reading.  Pip loves to read.  She doesn’t actually decode the words on a page, but she combines memorized text with her own words to ‘read’ books.  Pip’s 1 1/2 year old sister, Fig, is following her lead.  The other day I snuck into the living-room and video-taped the two of them sitting side-by-side on the couch, reading aloud.  Fig was reading ‘The Gruffalo’ and Pip was reading an Usborne collection of animal stories.   Fig has only just begun to string words together, so her language was stilted: “Upon a time, The Gruffalo.  Hi Snake, what’s your name?  Ya. All done.”  Pip’s reading, on the other hand, was very fluid and expressive: “‘Maybe it’s nice to have friends,’ thought the lion, and off he went,  into the jungle.”

Similar to my impulse to teach Pip ‘proper’ dance steps, I’m chomping at the bit when it comes to reading instruction.  The teacher in me thinks that Pip is progressing beautifully through important developmental stages on the road to literacy, and she shouldn’t be rushed.   The book-lover in me, however, anticipates the wonderful world that will open up for Pip once she can decode words, and wants to teach her to read RIGHT NOW!!!  So I compromise.  I don’t push Pip, but I do track the words with my finger as I read.   I often ask her to identify letters and we work on letter sounds, but she isn’t very interested.  Ironically, she just wants to read!   One day I thought I would simply ask, “Pip, would you like me to teach you how to read the words on a page?”  She looked at me as though I had carrots growing out of my ears, and said,

“You’re silly, Mama!  You know I can read!”  You can’t buy that kind of confidence.

Imagine if you could.  If you could bottle ‘confidence’ and sell it, you’d be a billionaire.  Somewhere along the way, most of us decide that there are a host of things we can not do.  How many of us have said at one point or another that we can’t sing?  Dance?  Paint?  Draw?  Why do we limit ourselves?  I wonder when we stop believing that we can do anything.

The other night I read, ‘The Kissing Hand,’ to Pip.  Usually she chooses the bed-time story, but that night she said, “You choose, Mama.”  I hadn’t read that particular book to her in months, and she looked at it as though it was a long lost friend.  ”What’s this one called again, Mama?”

“The Kissing Hand,” I said, and I proceeded to read the book.  I didn’t track words, I didn’t stop to review any letter sounds, I simply read a beautifully crafted story about the love between a mother raccoon and her child.  After I had finished, Pip said,

“I’m going to read it to you now Mama,” and I settled in for Pip’s rendition of the book.  Her retention was amazing.  She remembered much more of the exact text than I ever could have recalled.  Kids’ brains astonish me.  On top of that, Pip delivered an original line that was startlingly poetic.  She said, “I flew straight into love with you.”

How great is that?  Flying into love.  I like it better than falling in love.  Flying into love sounds more uplifting.  You can get excited about flying into love.

Lying on the bed with Pip, it suddenly occurred to me that I would miss out on moments like, “I flew straight into love with you,” if Pip knew how to read the exact words on a page.  The teacher in me is absolutely right;  there’s no rush.  Pip adores books.  She loves reading.  And, in the end,  that’s all that really matters.