Last weekend we found ourselves outside of Butte at one of Montana’s hot spring spots. As we drove into the parking lot Eliza saw the giant waterslide we’d promised would be there and she could barely contain herself.
“Do you think I’m old enough? Do you think they’ll let me on it?” she asked over and over.
Once inside we confirmed that, yes, with a life jacket, Eliza could, indeed, ride the corkscrew slide. I’m pretty sure the few hours that followed might be the thus-far highlight of my five-year-old’s life.
One evening last week I was sitting at our family desk trying to figure out why Firefox had rendered my Mac hopelessly inept. Nothing seemed to be working as it should. I opened help windows, Googled the equivalent of “what the %@!” and lamented out loud that the whole reason I buy Macs is so I don’t have to deal with stupid things like this. I was more than a little frustrated when I heard Lucille calling for me from the bathroom.
“Mama?” she said.
“Wait just a minute,” I said.
A few minutes passed. “Mama?” she said again.
“In a minute!” I said.
Eliza, having gotten tired, I think, of her sister’s pleading and my roundly putting her off, opened the bathroom door to see what was going on.
“Mom! Lucille trimmed her hair!” Eliza said.
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