Driving home from the library this evening I looked in the rear view mirror and saw Rachel looking up with her hands in the air, waving them around, and a huge smile on her face. I asked her what she was doing.
"Putting pixie dust all over the car to make it pretty," she said, matter of factly. "See, doesn't it look so sparkly and pretty now?"
I continued to watch her, and she looked around at her imaginary handiwork, smiling.
I couldn't help but smile the rest of the way home, loving her imagination, her innocence, and her exhuberance.
Can I bottle up some of this "three-ness" and save it for when she's, oh, fourteen?
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