Rachel observations

"Mommy, who's your favorite kinder?" Rachel asked at dinner the other night.
"Tessa," I answered (she's the daughter of my friend Helen, a former colleague of mine at The Oregonian). "Who's yours?" I asked.
"Edwin," she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"He has a cool backpack," she said. "And he's happy when his friends arrive."

Sounds good enough to me!

***

"I can't believe I have parents like you," Rachel said a day or so ago.
I wasn't sure what she meant -- it could be good or bad -- and asked her to elaborate.
"I can't believe you're so great!" she said.

Can I remind her of that when she's a surly teenager?

***

I did something a few days ago that I'm kind of ashamed of. I brought home two little pastries from an alumni reception I attended on Wednesday, put them in Tupperware and stashed them in the refrigerator to eat after Rachel went to bed (there is so much candy in this house, and I don't like candy, so I thought she could eat the candy and I'd eat the pastries for dessert).

She discovered the Tupperware, of course, and immediately wanted one of the pastries, a chocolate brownie (it was really small). I said we should split it and she looked sad. But I was firm.

After a minute or so I relented and said, "It's ok, Rachel, you can have it all." But it was too late, she had already given me the bigger portion.
"NO, Rachel!" I protested. You can..."
"SHARING IS CARING!" she exclaimed. "If you don't have the rest of it, I'm gonna die. Do you want me to die? Tricky one!"

Nothing like a good, honest heart to put Mommy in her place.