Reading our cares away

Fiona worries. Not nearly as much as she used to when she went to daycare and Ian and I both worked full-time, but she still frets. It wakes her up at night from time to time, and makes slumber initially elusive sometimes as well.

So when I saw a new, well-reviewed picture book written especially for worriers, I checked it out. I adore Keven Henkes as much as anybody, but Wemberley Worried can only take one so far, you know. Fiona enjoyed Silly Billy tonight-- enough to want some Guatemalan worry dolls for herself. Immediately. I told her that I used to have some worry dolls, and that in fact I might still have one or two tucked away in the basement. I told her we could look for them together tomorrow.

Something in the squint of her eye and the set of her jaw told me that she might not be content to wait that long. A storm began to brew inside her, but as quickly as it began, it blew over and we moved on to the next step of our nighttime routine. I gently tucked her in, and she fell asleep almost immediately.

Now I just have to find those worry dolls, but fast. I wonder where they are? What if I don't actually know what happened to them? Can I dredge up any worry dolls locally?

I sure don't know where Fiona comes by this worrying thing...