It's Tuesday Morning, Little Bird

She didn't want to read her Henry and Mudge book.

A stupid, boring book.

And she didn't like that kind of oatmeal, she just likes the other kind.

She can't remember which kind.

Children should eat what we give them, I thought. And then I thought, how often do I force myself to eat things I don't like?

She didn't have time to eat her dry cereal in the car because she was too busy being forced to read a stupid, boring book that she doesn't like and she doesn't get to pick which one she wants, like Zeke does but she doesn't.

By the time we pulled into the school parking lot, my Little Bird was rubbing her red eyes and in weepy tears.

"Give me a hug," I said. And then I said, "Sit back down. We are going to Starbucks."

She asked to be carried into Starbucks.

I thought of my mom, taking me to Arby's for curly fries and Jamocha shakes after the dentist.

And I thought about my Little Bird, coming everywhere with me for five years. Every trip to the store, the library, Starbucks. Little Bird my constant companion.

And I thought about how that time was over.

She picked a chocolate milk and the biggest scone.

She smiled and told me about the house they are building in Kindergarten.

It is made of mud and clay. It will have a paper roof. I think people in Africa live there. I think.

Then she said, "Let's go now. I don't want to miss P.E."

Yeah, I thought. I don't want to miss, either.

I am Vesuvius and I'm doing something right.