The other day, I was cleaning out the bag Margaret brought home from school on the last day, and discovered a piece of paper she had drawn on and then the teacher had captioned, spreading the lie that she liked to go to bed.
I mean, maybe she does enjoy terrorizing her parents for an hour or so, but that's not what is conveyed by her statement and picture.
Among the papers and changes of underwear and whatnot, I found her report card. Crumpled up. At the bottom of the bag. Had she mentioned it existed? No.
I see the shape of years to come.
Of course, it seems pretty nice, so maybe she wasn't hiding it from us.