Maisy ate waffles this morning. Drowned in syrup and butter. She lined clothespins up around the plate in a semi-circle. Like sentries.
She took a bite of her food, let syrup drip down her chin, opened her mouth, and roared at the clothespins.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
She inclined her head toward the small soldiers, dark with age, surrounding her plate. "They are watching the giant eat at the museum."
Beautiful, blond-haired, blue-eyed Maisy had transformed herself into a hideous, snarling giant. She tormented the small grouping of wooden men, huddled together around her giant's trough.
I thought about Halloween this year. Other girls her age dressed like Snow White. J. Lo. Princesses. Divas.
Maisy begged to wear her dad's "scary" zombie mask.
This morning, as happens so often with regard to my children, I marveled at the inner beauty of this child. Part of that beauty is her indifference to the physical attributes of herself and others. She has the drive...the hard-wiring...to put creativity above vanity.
As I continued to watch the giant at the museum, she devoured her waffles, collected the clothespin sentries and quickly assembled them into a telephone receiver.
Then she called me.
I answered on my air phone. "Hello."
"ROAR," said the giant.
Have I mentioned my kids are way cool?