Yesterday she found a book on the book shelf that we'd bought in Amsterdam years ago after we'd toured the Anne Frank Museum.
She started reading it with her friend.
Later, she asked if the book could be hers, if she took very good care of it.
Today she took it to school, she planned to read during lunch in the library.
The questions that have been asked, 'why were they gassed?' 'what were the chambers like?'
are hard to hear, and even harder to answer.
Some days, parenting is a leap of faith for me, hoping I get those moments that really count right.
