Caroline and I were in the commissary a few days ago and she was "helping" me select vegetables and fruits. This is a favorite activity for her lately. She used to bring her book to the commissary and would read it while waiting up front for me to finish the shopping. These days, she's my little shadow, asking me how to tell if this fruit is good or if that vegetable is ripe enough. She wants to know what I'm going to do with this or that, and how long it will keep in the fridge; she has really taken an interest in the daily domestic minutiae. She's also growing more confident in her abilities to choose produce and will tell me in no uncertain terms when she feels I've picked a too-ripe banana bunch or some slighty-past-their peak onions. This can be a nuisance when I'm in a hurry, but mostly I find this a cool development. My baby is telling me that she'll be a teenager in a few years, and she will make the best personal shopping slave ever.
Anyway, while we were looking at pomegranates, I heard someone call my name and I turned to see one of the teachers from Caroline's school waving at me. I walked over to the teacher and we, having not seen each other in a few months, had plenty to talk about and began a newsy conversation. It was probably too lengthy a talk for Caroline though, as she was very intent on the task at hand and clearly wanted my attention. I kept putting her off each time she'd say, "Um...mom.....?" and ask me a question about this veggie or that fruit with "Just a minute, Sweetheart."
So at some point, she decided she'd had enough and maybe it would help move me along if she'd just raise her voice a little bit. That's when I hear her shouting from across the fruit section while holding up a wrinkled little ball, "Hey MOM! See this passionfruit? It sure doesn't look very PASSIONATE, does it! It looks the OPPOSITE OF PASSIONATE, I'd say! Right, Mom? They ought to call it an UGLYFRUIT! It's SO WRINKLY! This is NOT PASSIONATE!"