My rearview mirror does no good. The mirror is cranked at an odd angle, so I have a clear view of the car seat in the backseat. (Note: I don’t recommend this for city drivers. Once in a great while, I will have a car pass me, but on lonely country roads, who needs a mirror.)
In the long rectangle of my mirror, I see Ree-Ree in the back snuggled with her new red bear she received at the Valentine’s Day party.
“Mine,” she says with determination. I will fight you for this bear, her voice says. (Ah, what they learn at daycare.)
“Mine.” pause. “Mine.” She repeats and repeats and repeats.
“Mine,” I say. Her eyes flash in the mirror.
“MINE!” she says with daycare gumption. Her eyes narrow to a slit. She has competition for the bear.
How can my mine be your mine? Yes, darling. The English language only gets more difficult from here.