Sneaky

Sarabelle loves a little booklet she picked up on our visit to Williamsburg two years ago, titled Every Man His Own Doctor. It's a reprint of a colonial era book on medical tips, containing such helpful information as curing consumption with tinctures of tea and deer dung. After all this moving around, packing, unpacking, and repacking, she recently rediscovered it and began regaling us again with cures for what never ails us.

Yesterday afternoon, after a discussion about her interest in studying medicine (not to be a doctor she emphasized, just for fun), I casually read her a snippet from the Father of Medicine's Hippocratic Writings. One mention of "flatulence" and seconds later the book was ripped from my hands and Sarabelle disappeared into her room giggling, "This is the coolest book ever! Listen to this..."

She reemerged later as I was finishing up packing the trunk -- yes, it's now more than a suitcase-sized collection of reading material -- of books for our trip. "Mom? Can we bring this to New Zealand?"

"I don't know, honey, there are an awful lot of books in here already and not one bit of room for the coats I was supposed to squish in there..."

"Oh, pleeeeeeease, Mama?!"

"I'll see what I can do."