Reading a book with my five year old this morning before school, we get to the part about colors. I ask her to give me the Spanish names for red and blue. “Rojo?” she says, with some hesitation. “Good. Now, how do you say blue in Spanish?” Pause. She clearly is struggling to remember.

From the next room, a small voice booms out “Azul!” with such certainty. It’s the three year old.

Later, that same three year old is invited to play hide and seek with some other children in a courtyard at the downtown library. While she runs out of my sight to hide, I pick up the remains of our lunch and tidy up the table, listening as an older child (probably 10 or so) counts to 40 to give all the other kids time to hide. I follow the boy who is “it” so that I have a clear view of the courtyard, and there is my brilliant three year old, squatting in the grass in the middle of the courtyard. With her hands over her eyes.

The boy who is “it” stops for a second beside L, clearly not knowing what to do. I hear him giggle, and then he passes her by, to chase some of the kids who are slightly better at this game than she.

I walk up to my little kid and ask what she is doing. “I’m HIDING, Mommy” she says crossly, eyes rolling, hands on hips.

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