Be a ten-year-old girl. Be on the ready to try anything.
Get yourself a violin and join the orchestra. Ride rodeo. Make and sell jewelry. Grow succulents. Love animals. Cook.
Today started with a FaceTime call with Elena who made crepes for her family for breakfast.
Nutella and strawberry and banana, ham and cheese, and spinach and cream cheese. She'd had them in Peru this summer and decided she'd like to make them. Will said they were the best he'd ever had.
Last night at my house where we had our early Thanksgiving dinner, she made elaborate menus for her brunch special. She gave us each a menu and walked around taking our orders.
Nathan--who had been entertaining and educating us on war-craft in the Middle Ages (the kid is brilliant in history!) balked at playing restaurant. "She's almost in middle school and still pretending," he said a bit grumpily, being a nearly sixteen year old and doing what sixteen-year-old boys do.
Elena kept on taking orders, then she followed through by making real crepes this morning.
"I pretend every day," I said--in her defense. "I get up every morning and pretend I'm an artist."
"There you go!" she said.
While we were on the phone, Will said, "This reminds me of your making crepes when I was a kid."
Flattered that he remembered me making crepes, I noted that Elena's crepes were served on the same plates he grew up with, my wedding dishes.
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