pins, abigail.

When a child reaches the age of six, she has many words. There aren't many things she can't say. No, in fact, when once I gave her words to describe her world, and the things around her, I find these days I'm more often trying to take words that she has learned away.

No, Abi, don't say 'What the....' because what people expect to hear next shouldn't come out of the mouths of little people.

Abi, don't call your brother 'Mr. Poopy Pants', where did you hear that potty talk? At school??

Still, she's only six. There are things she doesn't know. Yet, there are enough things she does know, that the things she doesn't know come out beautifully.

She walked towards me tonight, holding a safety pin dangerously open. Her finger was pulling cautiously on the pointed needle.

"I was trying to get the yellow thing off of it," she said (what yellow thing? I didn't know, I didn't care, she had an open PIN). "I'll put it someplace safe. Can you put the thorn... back in its... pouch?"

I was so puzzled. She saw I was puzzled, but we both knew that I understood her perfectly. I simply couldn't believe the very precious way she had just asked me to close a safety pin.