Dorothy picked up a flower that had fallen on the path. "That kind of flower is called fluted," I said. Then she dropped it and gasped, "I dropped the fluted!"
Dorothy was crying because she noticed that her toy had one eye that was printed more darkly than its other eye. "Sit right here," I said, "because you need to eat breakfast. I can see you melting before my eyes." "Don't mention eyes!" she yelled.
"P.E. is an easy word to spell," said Dorothy. "Yes, like OK and PJs," I responded. "PJs," said Dorothy, "is that P-J-J?"
"Do you know what I wish for?" Dorothy asked as she appeared from bed. "A mom who will go to bed with me and help me fall asleep every night. What do you wish for?" she asked. "A daughter who will go to bed and not get out again," I said. A full 24 hours later, at bedtime, Dorothy reflected, "Remember when I told you what I wished for and asked you what you wished for? Really, I wished for the same thing you did. If I had a mom who would go to bed with me, I would never have to get out of bed."