West Texas Mama

Emma has just declared to me (with her little hands balled up into fists and placed defiantly on her hips) that a woman doesn't give up on her job until it is done. It is hard to not laugh at her little lip stuck out as she tries not to cry.  You see, this heroically delivered statement is done so in reference to her beloved Gig'Ems, a stuffed monkey she sleeps with that has gone missing.  It probably helps that it gives her a reason (about the twenty-seventh, I think) to get out of bed and come to my room.   I sent her back to her room with the suggestion that Gig'Ems is probably buried deep in all the junk on her floor. The twenty-eighth reason involved a dramatic monologue of the depth of her love for Gig'Ems and further declarations that she will never,never give up on him, and that he was not where I said. The twenty-ninth time brought an extended period of wailing and crocodile tears, topped off with a dramatic flailing of herself across my lap with "I must f