Wednesday, July 11, 2007

My Wemberly

Perhaps I should change Doodle's blog name to Wembely, the name that I gently call her to settle her down when she is being a worrywart. (If you don't have Kevin Henkes' book Wemberly Worried and you have a worrywart, you should have it on your bookshelf).

For the past few weeks, I've been getting to work by 7 a.m. so I can pick Doodle and her friend up from music camp in the afternoon; the other girl's parents are doing the morning drop off. This morning at 8 a.m. my office phone rings and Doodle asks where her camp name tag is. I realized that it was still in my purse; it generally stays at camp but I picked her up early yesterday for a dentist appointment and she didn't de-geek. She immediately began to worry that she would get in trouble and that no one would know who she was (she's been at this camp for 12 days now, and everyone knows her name). She begged me to drive home and bring her the name tag, or else she wouldn't go to camp today. I declined and gave her the reasons why no one would care if her name tag was missing. She begged some more. Again I declined, this time telling her that I bet she is the only kid at this camp who would worry about a missing name tag. This seemed to get through to her, and she changed the subject. I should keep track of the amount of time I spend listening to her worries, both big and inane (like this one); I think the figure would astound me.

Of course, this phone call was somewhat preferable to the one I received on Monday morning to tell me that our 2.5 year old fish died. The two goldfish scooped up at our pool on July 4 live on.

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