It's heartbreaking for her because her sister, who she does everything with, has just run off with their cousin. It's when I point and say, "Look at that."
"What?" Her whine is a short sharp cry. She stomps at least one good stomp. No sticks in her hands because she would throw them.
"See. The earth looks like a bowl there. You have to climb that dirt mountain."
Next time we'll take the map when they ask us to, baby wipes, a change of clothes to leave in the car, a bag for the muddy clothes, towels for the inside of the car and those people.
Today I am grateful for her home, her table, her dishes, her food - the way she does that for us.
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