I am in the kitchen, reheating soup from the freezer and handing the toddler quartered grape tomatoes in her high chair to keep her from screaming.
BG comes in, holding the marble notebook I gave her.
"Mommy, can I write in my journal?"
Pause. "Yes! Yes, of course. " I hand her a pen.
"I haven't written in a while."
"I ... Me neither."
"I just have to work in my poetry. I'm going to be a famous writer, so I do my very best each day."
"That's wonderful honey. Keep working hard."
OKAY TINY PREACHY MIRROR, I HEAR YOU.