See that magic girl? The one with the glasses, the one with the eye roll, the one with a quick comeback when her ancient mother says the simplest thing like "why is there a concoction of sugar, salt and conditioner in a bowl in the bathroom?" That's my girl Madeleine--explorer, sage, creative, wild child, friend of babies, lover of dolls. She's almost ten, but don't let that fool you. Underneath all the sass we mothers of tweenagers endure is a tiny girl who still wants someone to hold her, someone to sing to her, someone to suggest a hot warm bath with lots of bubbles and the silliest toys. I'm learning--even in the terror of teen years just around the corner--that she's still really quite small, and that I'm small, too. If I can dare push back all my big girl worries, I can see things clearly: that we both still need to play, still need to be told, still need to have fun.
Even if it means "experiments" in the kitchen and all that wonder, messiness and magic that is sure to follow.