Here’s a story that my sister sent along last year about her daughter E, who is now
eight but was seven at the time.
E was having one of those days — woke up on the wrong side of the bed, just mad at
the world. At some point she went to her room only to come back downstairs with her hair tied in a low, tight ponytail, dressed all in black, and proclaim, “My new favorite color is black. My new favorite place to go is nowhere.”
Then E said that she wanted to call Mom-Mom, because her job is to help people
with their feelings, so all was not lost.