The sweetness of six-year-olds

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Yesterday, as we were driving home from a highly satisfactory dinner at Horse Thief Hollow*, we passed a softball field in the middle of a not-yet-known-to-me neighborhood. 

Mommyo, sentimentally: “Ahh, that reminds me of the softball field I used to play on as a girl. I miss playing softball.”

The Six-Year-Old: “I’ll play softball with you, Mommyo.”

Daddyo, eagerly: “Do you want to go out in the morning and throw the ball around, The Six-Year-Old?”

The Six-Year-Old: “No. I want to play softball with Mommyo so that she can remember her childhood. I can’t bear to see her cry. Are you crying, Mommyo?”

Mommyo: “No. I’m just so happy.”

The Six-Year-Old: “That’s ok. That I can bear.”

*I say highly satisfactory, but in all honesty, I have to report that The Six-Year-Old was dissatisfied by the lack of Wanted posters on the walls. She helped the place out by drawing one on her children’s menu. 

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About Shala Howell

Writer of things ranging from optical network switching white papers to genetic testing patient education materials to historical fiction set in an 1880s asylum. When I’m not scratching my head over pesky characters who refuse to do things how I want them done or dreaming of my next book (which will of course be much easier to write than the current one), my writerly self can be found blogging about life with a very curious Ten-Year-Old at, or musing about books and the writing life at
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