Henry walked through the living room just now as I was ending a rant to my husband. I was going on and on about feeling down right obstinate about a few things in my life. (Huge Surprise, I know.) I didn't realise Henry was near and I turned the conversation, before he could ask what I was really talking about. I said, "Henry, Obstinate is an excellent word. Do you know what it means?" He settled himself on the couch and the Rubik's Cube started whirring in his hands. "Um, hum... I believe it means stubborn?" Ding ding ding! "That's Right!" Deservedly or not, I felt proud of this vocabulary brilliance. Well hey, I think almost everything these kids say and know is brilliant, so my feelings here should surprise no one.

Then my daughter walked in, caught my enthusiasm and said, "Quiz me." Oops. I don't like to foster that kind of competition. This was delicate because I could neither insult her with an inane word nor pit her against her brother, for whom words are a river on which to float. I stared deeply in her eyes. I said, clearly fishing for my own name, "What is another word for the perfect mother." Oh she is steely and fast and fierce. She paused a norteenth of a second and said, "Love."