When I was a tike, I often romped at Northside Park in Wheaton, which is why it’s particularly special that I’m now able to take Isla there. Last weekend, she wandered over to the park’s baseball diamond and stood upon the pitcher’s mound. I expected — even hoped — that she’d then pretend to throw a pitch toward home plate. Instead, she turned the tomboy level up a notch, howling like a wolf for a minute or so before falling to her knees and exuberantly playing with dirt.
A friend recently reminded me that, when Isla was a newborn, I’d commented that I didn’t want a delicate, princess-obsessed daughter. And this is very much true. I’m thrilled to have a rough-and-tumble kiddo.
