Our neighbor and Miss M’s pal, Ariella (of “Ay-ya-ya!” fame), is a frequent visitor in our house–although Miss M prefers to go upstairs to get into the doll house and princess dress-up clothes for which Ariella is well known (at least downstairs in our apartment).

Yesterday, I picked the girls up after school (Ariella’s mom is at that point in her pregnancy when she has to go for doctor’s appointments approximately every five seconds), sliced up an apple for them, and turned them loose with a stack of construction paper, markers, and stickers. They were drawing contentedly, with occasional squabbles over the stickers and markers, when I overheard Ariella seemingly dictating a letter to Miss M.

“Can you write, ‘I miss you, T [her sister]. I wish you were here.’ ?”

Miss M obediently wrote “I,” then followed it up with her usual “writing,” which is something along the lines of “R I A N C A Y D D I C V W X.” As she did it, she slowly recited, “I wish you were here.”

Ariella studied the paper for a moment with a puzzled look, but came away seeming satisfied. 

My baby. I don’t know whether to be proud her or if I should sell her to the GOP.