Friday, December 7 2001:
We have a ward party. What a rough crowd! I feel mildly uncomfortable. Some kid comes over and makes fun of Caitlin’s eyelashlessness. Someone else starts drawing her out. “Who do you think is the cutest thirteen-year old in the ward?” I think they’re the same person, and ask her afterwards, “who is that dreadful child?” “She’s not dreadful, Dad. She’s the only active member in her family, and she’s doing her best.” Oh.
Saturday, Feb. 14 1998:
Drew is troubled. “Everyone is driving around as if it wasn’t even Valentine’s Day.” “Valentine’s day is meaningless,” I say knowingly. “Dad,” says Sarah. “Valentine’s Day means love.” The perfect child makes a good point, as she so often does.