Well, Peanuts!
Valentines have been handed out and celebrated, bags have been packed, children are giddy with excitement and parents are alternating between thrilled and terrified. Must be time to travel!
Wish us luck. I probably won't be able to post from Ethiopia, but hopefully I will have lots of good stories and pictures to share when we return. Love to all of you in the meantime. See you in spring!
Friday, February 15, 2013
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Why
The first time I went to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, I spent some time in the city by myself exploring or traveling to visit new friends. I always took the informal public transportation- the minibuses-or sometimes the city bus. The system isn't marked. You're just supposed to know that if you want to end up in one part of town you go to, say, the corner by the old gas station, or a third of the way down the street after the alley near the post office, or whatever, and wait to hear a driver call it out. Of course I was brand new in town, didn't speak the language, and have a sense of direction so awful it's comical. So sometimes I got lost.
You might think that being lost and alone in a foreign country where I didn't speak the language, couldn't even recognize the characters of the alphabet, and stuck out like I had a neon sign on my head flashing "FOREIGNER" would be pretty frightening. Especially when it started getting dark.
But it wasn't. Now. I'm not saying there was no danger around, there may have been. But I never came across it if there was, and I remember being struck by feeling so much safer than I would have felt if I were lost and alone in some parts of my own city back home.
What happened to me every time in Addis, was that people saw me. They saw that I looked lost, and they came over to help. With broken English, with charades-like gestures, with the hailing of a crowd of strangers until someone could borrow a cell phone to call their uncle who knew English, they found a way to learn what I needed. And then they went out of their way to find me the guy who sells the best mangoes, or the mini-bus to Arat Kilo. Once a person dropped whatever it was he had been on the way to do, and walked me 9 blocks to the right bus, rode it with me to make sure it ended up in the right place, shook my hand, and rode that bus back. It took nearly an hour. Once a woman my mother's age literally took me under her wing, tucking me into her elbow and escorting me to the shop. She paid my fare and haggled with the shop keeper for me, then invited me to a tea the next day.
One time a driver tried to overcharge me. But when he did the rest of the passengers were actually on their feet scolding and shaming him, and apologizing to me on his behalf. Lest I think that Ethiopians were 'like that'. They collectively paid for my trip, to make it up to me. That incident of almost being cheated out of 20 cents was the worst thing an Ethiopian did to me, that trip or ever. I always ended up where I'd meant to go, and often arrived there having made a new friend or two.
Six months after my second trip to Addis, I was working as a nanny in DC. It was a Saturday date night for the child's parents, and so I was taking the late metro home. It was sometime after eleven. In the station, I saw a man by the exit. What do you know? He was Ethiopian. He must have been very newly in the United States; he spoke almost no English at all. Like I said, it was very late. I have no idea how long he had been there. But he was alone. And he looked terrified.
In DC, if your metro card doesn't have enough money on it, the turnstiles won't let you through. You can't get out of the subway tunnel until you go to the fare machine and add money to your card. But this man didn't know that. He didn't know that he had miscalculated the amount of USD needed for his trip, he couldn't communicate with the metro guard, he couldn't read the signs. He was bewildered, and he was stuck. He stood near the exit with his metro card in outstretched hands repeating "Please? Please? Please?" I saw him from a distance; I was coming up the escalator.
Guys. I tell you. I watched dozens of people walk right. by. him. They didn't even look at him. He looked so horrified; he may have wondered if he'd gone invisible, or mad. I do believe he thought he might never be able to get out of that tunnel. "Please? Please?" People walked within inches of him. And no one even looked.
I remember watching this and feeling such a deep, splitting shame. A shame that was bigger than me, big enough for my whole country. The shame of knowing that when I was in his country, people with far less than these designer-suited commuters had fallen all over themselves to help me, to make me feel comfortable, to tell me "welcome" to their country, to pay my fare. Yet when he was in my home and needed the same help...no one would even acknowledge that he was there. What. It would take too much time? They were afraid he'd beg for change they would never have missed? They might get mugged by a skinny frightened man in front of an armed guard? Please. America please.
When I walked up to him smiling, he began to actually cry he was so relieved. Do you know what he needed? This huge favor he was asking of the strangers who couldn't be put upon? Fourteen cents. Fourteen cents for his freedom and to know that he was not in a place where human beings allow each other to beg for help unheard. In Amharic, that man thanked me a dozen times and blessed me over and over. He fairly danced out the door, taking the escalator steps two at a time.
Maybe I was naive. Maybe he could have sucker-punched me and snatched my purse. Or maybe, he was just a person. Who could use a little help from another person. Maybe I did something risky... or maybe it was just right. Like all those Ethiopian strangers had done for me, before.
I won't say I'm not worried about the trip I'm about to take. I know that the social climate in parts of East Africa has changed since I was last there, I know that there are crazy people everywhere, and I know that people there drive like lunatics. I know that all dangers are infinitely scarier when my children are along. I know that I will have to be as careful and cautious as I can be, in the case I ever find us in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But I can't forget what my experience has shown me about the relative safety of Addis Ababa streets versus American metro stations. And even though I may be able to do very very little to help anyone who needs it in Ethiopia, I've heard that there are people who do need help, and I've been given the opportunity to do something. Even from across an ocean, I can't let myself be a person who hears "please? please?" and just walks on by. I can't raise my kids to be that person.
I am nervous and worried. Because I'm a mom and if I could worry the danger out of the world, we would all be holding hands and singing some kumbaya right now. But I will be careful, and I will hope. Maybe taking my children and going to Ethiopia is a risk. But maybe it's right.
You might think that being lost and alone in a foreign country where I didn't speak the language, couldn't even recognize the characters of the alphabet, and stuck out like I had a neon sign on my head flashing "FOREIGNER" would be pretty frightening. Especially when it started getting dark.
But it wasn't. Now. I'm not saying there was no danger around, there may have been. But I never came across it if there was, and I remember being struck by feeling so much safer than I would have felt if I were lost and alone in some parts of my own city back home.
What happened to me every time in Addis, was that people saw me. They saw that I looked lost, and they came over to help. With broken English, with charades-like gestures, with the hailing of a crowd of strangers until someone could borrow a cell phone to call their uncle who knew English, they found a way to learn what I needed. And then they went out of their way to find me the guy who sells the best mangoes, or the mini-bus to Arat Kilo. Once a person dropped whatever it was he had been on the way to do, and walked me 9 blocks to the right bus, rode it with me to make sure it ended up in the right place, shook my hand, and rode that bus back. It took nearly an hour. Once a woman my mother's age literally took me under her wing, tucking me into her elbow and escorting me to the shop. She paid my fare and haggled with the shop keeper for me, then invited me to a tea the next day.
One time a driver tried to overcharge me. But when he did the rest of the passengers were actually on their feet scolding and shaming him, and apologizing to me on his behalf. Lest I think that Ethiopians were 'like that'. They collectively paid for my trip, to make it up to me. That incident of almost being cheated out of 20 cents was the worst thing an Ethiopian did to me, that trip or ever. I always ended up where I'd meant to go, and often arrived there having made a new friend or two.
Six months after my second trip to Addis, I was working as a nanny in DC. It was a Saturday date night for the child's parents, and so I was taking the late metro home. It was sometime after eleven. In the station, I saw a man by the exit. What do you know? He was Ethiopian. He must have been very newly in the United States; he spoke almost no English at all. Like I said, it was very late. I have no idea how long he had been there. But he was alone. And he looked terrified.
In DC, if your metro card doesn't have enough money on it, the turnstiles won't let you through. You can't get out of the subway tunnel until you go to the fare machine and add money to your card. But this man didn't know that. He didn't know that he had miscalculated the amount of USD needed for his trip, he couldn't communicate with the metro guard, he couldn't read the signs. He was bewildered, and he was stuck. He stood near the exit with his metro card in outstretched hands repeating "Please? Please? Please?" I saw him from a distance; I was coming up the escalator.
Guys. I tell you. I watched dozens of people walk right. by. him. They didn't even look at him. He looked so horrified; he may have wondered if he'd gone invisible, or mad. I do believe he thought he might never be able to get out of that tunnel. "Please? Please?" People walked within inches of him. And no one even looked.
I remember watching this and feeling such a deep, splitting shame. A shame that was bigger than me, big enough for my whole country. The shame of knowing that when I was in his country, people with far less than these designer-suited commuters had fallen all over themselves to help me, to make me feel comfortable, to tell me "welcome" to their country, to pay my fare. Yet when he was in my home and needed the same help...no one would even acknowledge that he was there. What. It would take too much time? They were afraid he'd beg for change they would never have missed? They might get mugged by a skinny frightened man in front of an armed guard? Please. America please.
When I walked up to him smiling, he began to actually cry he was so relieved. Do you know what he needed? This huge favor he was asking of the strangers who couldn't be put upon? Fourteen cents. Fourteen cents for his freedom and to know that he was not in a place where human beings allow each other to beg for help unheard. In Amharic, that man thanked me a dozen times and blessed me over and over. He fairly danced out the door, taking the escalator steps two at a time.
Maybe I was naive. Maybe he could have sucker-punched me and snatched my purse. Or maybe, he was just a person. Who could use a little help from another person. Maybe I did something risky... or maybe it was just right. Like all those Ethiopian strangers had done for me, before.
I won't say I'm not worried about the trip I'm about to take. I know that the social climate in parts of East Africa has changed since I was last there, I know that there are crazy people everywhere, and I know that people there drive like lunatics. I know that all dangers are infinitely scarier when my children are along. I know that I will have to be as careful and cautious as I can be, in the case I ever find us in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But I can't forget what my experience has shown me about the relative safety of Addis Ababa streets versus American metro stations. And even though I may be able to do very very little to help anyone who needs it in Ethiopia, I've heard that there are people who do need help, and I've been given the opportunity to do something. Even from across an ocean, I can't let myself be a person who hears "please? please?" and just walks on by. I can't raise my kids to be that person.
I am nervous and worried. Because I'm a mom and if I could worry the danger out of the world, we would all be holding hands and singing some kumbaya right now. But I will be careful, and I will hope. Maybe taking my children and going to Ethiopia is a risk. But maybe it's right.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Feral Opportunity
I've heard about opportunity knocking. They say it does that. But in my experience, Opportunity is less a polite salesman and more like a feral cat. It kind of peeks out at me from the bushes. I'll just be walking up my front path and I'm like- wait. Did I hear something?
Every now and then I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. Was that? Could that have been.. something? Hmm. Then as time goes on, I notice it prowling around, getting bolder. Leaving prints on my windshield. I start thinking about it. Hmm. I believe there's a feral Opportunity in my yard.
I kind of go on about life but it's at the back of my mind. What to do about it? Should I take it in? Can I handle all the work of an Opportunity right now? It may need grooming. It could bite. But...it might be such a nice addition to life. I might even love it.
It's hard to decide, you know, whether I'm an Opportunity-taking-in kind of person, when it comes down to it. Life is going just fine as it is, after all, and even if I was the type, what if this isn't the exact right Opportunity for me? What if it's the kind that pees on the sofa?! So I'll think about it. Off and on. Maybe try to check it out a bit from a distance. And then.
One day, coming home after a long day, I'm looking in my bag for the keys. Where are they? Oh. There they are. And I look up to open the door and BAM! There it is. The feral Opportunity, right on my doorstep. And it's giving me the Stare Down. I freeze! I stare, it stares back. I look around like, what do I do?! It stares back. I take a step. It stares back.
Opportunity is like, it's getting cold out here, lady. What's it gonna be? So. I either have to shoo it off with the porch broom so it will go bother someone else....or just say what the heck. Scoop the thing up, and bring it inside. Boom. Now I have an Opportunity on my hands.
At least, that's how it tends to happen for me.
Now, I'm really not at all a cat person. But I do have a soft spot for Opportunities. And that is why, when the Opportunity to go to Africa and do some work for my favorite organization on earth sat it's furry tail on the porch and stared me down...well. It just looked so nice, Peanuts. It sort of looked like this one Opportunity I had in college. I couldn't say no!
Of course I'm not in college anymore. And the thing about taking in Opportunities when you're all grown and married with kids is that when you bring it into the house, the whole family has to live with it.
This particular one involves being overseas for longer than J can take off of work. What that means is that he will be staying home for this trip, but the Littles will be coming with me!
There are risks involved of course. As there are any time you travel anywhere, as there are when you drive to the grocery store, as there are in life. There are some special concerns I have about this trip, like getting used to surroundings that are different from their norm, and whether I personally will survive the 19 hour trip across the world to get there.
But as easy as it is to see the potential for fleas and scratched furniture, Opportunities also have the potential to curl up in your lap and purr.
I'm thrilled to introduce my daughters to a place that I believe is so rich and beautiful, to people that mean so much to me, and to an experience that can show them in a tangible way how diverse and limitless the world is. I know they are small, especially Miss. But I don't for a moment think that even She won't be impacted and influenced by visiting another country, so different from what they have known.
I anticipate some rough moments. There will be jetlag, everything will be different, and we will see some things that are hard to see. We will miss Daddy a lot. But I hope that Ethiopia will be for them a little bit of what it has been to me before. I hope that international travel will give them that glimmer, that hint that the wide world is something vast and wonderful to explore. I'm hoping that by coming with me, they will gain that little something that will make them grow up to be a Crazy Opportunity Lady, like me.
Every now and then I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. Was that? Could that have been.. something? Hmm. Then as time goes on, I notice it prowling around, getting bolder. Leaving prints on my windshield. I start thinking about it. Hmm. I believe there's a feral Opportunity in my yard.
I kind of go on about life but it's at the back of my mind. What to do about it? Should I take it in? Can I handle all the work of an Opportunity right now? It may need grooming. It could bite. But...it might be such a nice addition to life. I might even love it.
It's hard to decide, you know, whether I'm an Opportunity-taking-in kind of person, when it comes down to it. Life is going just fine as it is, after all, and even if I was the type, what if this isn't the exact right Opportunity for me? What if it's the kind that pees on the sofa?! So I'll think about it. Off and on. Maybe try to check it out a bit from a distance. And then.
One day, coming home after a long day, I'm looking in my bag for the keys. Where are they? Oh. There they are. And I look up to open the door and BAM! There it is. The feral Opportunity, right on my doorstep. And it's giving me the Stare Down. I freeze! I stare, it stares back. I look around like, what do I do?! It stares back. I take a step. It stares back.
Opportunity is like, it's getting cold out here, lady. What's it gonna be? So. I either have to shoo it off with the porch broom so it will go bother someone else....or just say what the heck. Scoop the thing up, and bring it inside. Boom. Now I have an Opportunity on my hands.
At least, that's how it tends to happen for me.
Now, I'm really not at all a cat person. But I do have a soft spot for Opportunities. And that is why, when the Opportunity to go to Africa and do some work for my favorite organization on earth sat it's furry tail on the porch and stared me down...well. It just looked so nice, Peanuts. It sort of looked like this one Opportunity I had in college. I couldn't say no!
Of course I'm not in college anymore. And the thing about taking in Opportunities when you're all grown and married with kids is that when you bring it into the house, the whole family has to live with it.
This particular one involves being overseas for longer than J can take off of work. What that means is that he will be staying home for this trip, but the Littles will be coming with me!
There are risks involved of course. As there are any time you travel anywhere, as there are when you drive to the grocery store, as there are in life. There are some special concerns I have about this trip, like getting used to surroundings that are different from their norm, and whether I personally will survive the 19 hour trip across the world to get there.
But as easy as it is to see the potential for fleas and scratched furniture, Opportunities also have the potential to curl up in your lap and purr.
I'm thrilled to introduce my daughters to a place that I believe is so rich and beautiful, to people that mean so much to me, and to an experience that can show them in a tangible way how diverse and limitless the world is. I know they are small, especially Miss. But I don't for a moment think that even She won't be impacted and influenced by visiting another country, so different from what they have known.
I anticipate some rough moments. There will be jetlag, everything will be different, and we will see some things that are hard to see. We will miss Daddy a lot. But I hope that Ethiopia will be for them a little bit of what it has been to me before. I hope that international travel will give them that glimmer, that hint that the wide world is something vast and wonderful to explore. I'm hoping that by coming with me, they will gain that little something that will make them grow up to be a Crazy Opportunity Lady, like me.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Meet Miss
A major thing that has happened since we last chatted, Peanuts, is Little Miss.
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It will be a very long introduction, I'm afraid, since I missed Her 18 month post and (as I'll explain later) will also be missing Her 2 year Birthday post. Plus there's such an awful lot to say!
Little Miss is a lovely little paradoxical creature.
She is a bit shy, rather sensitive. She peers out from behind me in new situations, She observes cautiously a long time before joining a new friend to play. She's terribly easy to frighten. She is just now in the process of overcoming a plethora of little phobias; the vacuum, motorcycles, snakes, worms that look suspiciously like snakes, all sorts of bugs or specks of fuzz that resemble bugs. She no longer shrieks in terror and cries buckets of tears at the sight of a beetle or the roar of a sports car. But She makes for me like a homing torpedo with enormous eyes and a trembling lip, "Mama!! Mama this scary me!"
On encountering a New Thing- a different sort of shopping cart, a petting zoo chicken, an oddly shaped carrot- Miss finds a parent or sister as calmly as She is able, points at New Thing, and in a voice of tenuous self-control says, "This, nice." It's really a question. She needs to be reassured; "Yes, Missy, the Roomba is nice." She will still be leery. But She trusts (from behind your knee) that it won't eat Her. For now.
On the other hand, She will bust ahead of Her sister and anyone else for that matter to climb things that are too steep, balance on things that are too teetery, jump from things that are too high. She is the child that childproofing was created for. She is the one who could not possibly care less if Mommy says, "Ok, Missy. I'm leaving then! Bye!" Missy loves this tactic. It's just what She wanted. Permission to run in the opposite direction and do Her own thing. "Bye-bye Mommy!" She grins. Off She goes.
She is very independent. She's not only happy to play by Herself for long stretches of time, but now that Little One has been in school I've realized She sort of needs a certain amount of alone time. She loves attention like any child, of course. But She's perfectly happy to sit quietly with crayons and paper for up to an hour, or have the playroom all to Herself. Sometimes, no offense meant, She'd rather build Her block tower without any amateur assistance, thank you.
And whatever there is to be done, She'll almost always prefer to do it Herself. "MY do it!" is one of Her most common and emphatic phrases.
While She has bloomed into an avid little snugglebunny (for every "My do it", there is a "snuggle me!", a "cuddle up Missy time!" or a "Hugs! Hugs kisses me!"), those words are pretty new. Before (and sometimes still) it hurt Her pride too much to outright ask for affection. And so She would pretend to be a kitten. A poor little kitten always needs to be held and cuddled. Not a big strong girl like Missy, no. But if She dons a pathetic little face, looks up beseechingly and plaintively mews... we will surely be fooled into thinking She is a kitten, scoop Her up and hold Her tight, and never know it was Her.
Alternatively, She might come up to me, looking very sorry for me.
"Mommy sad?"
"No, Missy, don't worry! I'm not sad love."
She stares a moment. "Mommy sad."
"No...no Missy Mommy is happy!"
Her eyes narrow into a forbidding glare. "Mommy. SAD."
It takes me a minute to get it. "Aaaah. I see. Oh, yes, I'm so sad. Boo hoo."
Miss grins and runs to me with hugs and kisses and pats on the arm.
"Aww, Mommy!" She purrs, "Ok, Mommy. Missy here. Hugs. Kisses. Snuggle all up. No cry, Mommy, no cry."
It wasn't Miss that needed hugging, you see. It was me. She just does Her best to help out.
Her pride, after all, is so easily wounded. She'd rather yell at the doll's high chair, "Aaargh! You! NO WORKING!" throw up Her hands, and walk away, "NO highchair me!" than ask for help closing the tray. We are working on this. She doesn't take well to correction, either. She cannot believe I'd be so cruel as to suggest that Her shoe is on the wrong foot. Fine then, forget it. "NO shoes, me!" We are working on this too.
At the same time, She has a heart-melting sweet spirit. She can't stand to see anyone have an owie, or to hear anyone cry. To Miss, all things are to be showered with love. They will want kisses and cuddles, and probably to be rocked, fed a bottle, and cooed at "awwwww...BAY-beee!"
NOTHING is as wonderful as a baby. Oh, how Missy loves babies. Caring for Her baby dolls is currently Her main purpose in life. Like a real, veteran mama, She has only to see, hear, or imagine a baby of any sort and Her whole body begins to sway as if She were rocking something to sleep. When we are out in public She is on high alert in case She might see a real baby.
Anything small is surely a baby crayon, a baby rock, a baby bite of spinach. Her voice shrinks into a tiny, high-pitched trill. "Oh! This baby one! Awww, BAY-bee! Kiss. Hug kisses." All things are personified, and all belong in families. Give Her four grapes and before consuming them, She must inspect and allocate them each. "This, mommy one. This one, Daddy one. This sister one gape, this one baby. Aww! BAY-bee!"
Aside from Her precious baby dolls, She's very good at sharing. Pretty good at taking turns. Terribly patient, most times, about being constantly bossed around and dressed up and hustled about by Her sister. She loves and longs to do anything Her sister does, after all, and pines to be a part of the Big Kid games when Little One's friends are over. Not that She doesn't have Her very own interests.
She LOVES bath time, She loves to eat "Hot! Soup!" and to pretend to make it. She is, despite being a member of this family, a total cat person. Not particularly fond of dogs, even Her own. LOVES kitties of all sorts. She adores anything art-related. Crayons, markers, paint, stamps, stickers. She could "color me" all day. She loves to be outdoors and can hike like a trooper. She loves the playground as long as you swing Her very gently, and Her sister accompanies Her down the slides.
She likes books, and gets hooked on favorites that She must read until the rest of us are ready to burn. For a good six months it was "Mrs. Wow Never Wanted A Cow" every night. Then it was a sign language book which we have now all memorized entirely. Currently it is a story about a boy and his drum. Maybe because it has a cat in it.
Adopting a "usual" for storytime isn't surprising for Her, though. Miss is a fan of habit and routine. If She is on a schedule, She will never fail you. If She is in Her bed each day at 1pm, She will nap each day at 1pm. But heaven help you if you mess Her up. At 1:15 she is weeping on your pant-leg, "Sleeeeeeeep! Sleeeeeeeepy me! Nap-time!"
She's fastidious about all things, really. As long as it wasn't your idea, She is very good about cleaning up Her toys, and likes everything to be in it's place. She loves to help clean with a little dustcloth and the toy vacuum, and will not tolerate being dirty for long. She loves to wash Her hands. She loves to wash everything. She helpfully reminds me if I have left my shoes out or missed a spot mopping.
Not that She's all work and no play. She's actually quite the comedian. Little Miss will very literally go head over heels for a laugh. She has a sense of humor beyond Her age I think, pointing out ironies and cracking jokes that sometimes really are funny. She has patented a pouty face that is so pronounced it typically evokes chuckles, and so She employs it for comic relief more than to actually pout. Not everyone gets it. But when they do, She is delighted. A special joke of Missy's developed around Thanksgiving after Her sister came home from learning about Squanto at school. Little Miss thought the sound of that name to be pretty funny. She began to sing "twinkle twinkle little SQUANTO!", the absurdity of which made us laugh out loud. Thereby cementing it into Miss's repertoire, and now when we're all getting a little too serious or boring, She breaks out that song to liven us all up. It typically works, too.
Miss is coming into Her own in terms of communicating, and can be pretty creative about it. For example, recently we were getting ready for bed and She began to fuss. "Piggies no stick-outing! Piggies NO-STICK-OUTING! Piggies! PIGGIES!!!" crying out quite desperately at the end there. This was all I could get out of Her. When I asked Her what She meant, of course She only repeated Herself with a growing frustration that I was the stupidest possible person, until I finally asked Her, "what piggies?!" and She pointed to Her right foot. Ah. Those little piggies. No-stick-out-ing. As in, Her toes had gotten caught on Her pants, and She couldn't push Her foot through. Her piggies were not sticking out. This sort of Yoda-Jedi syntax is a special distinctiveness of Little Miss's.
"Please clementine me more!" Asking for more of Her favorite treat.
"This car, Missy Miss, turn-time! Yeah, blue one!" If She wants the blue car.
"Banana-ing time!" If She wants a banana.
"This blocks, build up sky, big tower!" Planning to erect a duplo sky-scraper.
"Jacket-ing me, Mama please!" If She needs help with Her raincoat.
And of course, the quintessential Little Miss classic when She is crossed in any way (accompanied by the Scowl and folded arms): "NO happy, me!"
Little Miss does love to knit Her eyebrows and give that very intimidating Scowl to, well, just about everyone until they are proven innocent. She also loves to laugh, loves to create laughter, and has an all-out, soulful giggle and grin that could probably light Times Square. Her incredible stubbornness tests my patience to the extreme sometimes, but those mega-smiles shoot straight through my heart and radiate sunshine out my fingertips and toes on even my gloomiest days. She is a second sibling but in no one's shadow, managing to be at once our delicate violet and our bolt of lightning. Somehow Little Miss has been in our family for only just two years. Think of that. But none of us, if we try our hardest, can imagine what life was ever like without Her.
And now that you've been properly introduced, I'll bet you won't be able to, either.
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