A few years ago, when Dillon was about three or four, a friend of mine took him to the library. When they returned, my friend said (in between fits of laughter), "Angie, you won't believe what came out of your son's mouth. We walked into the library and he goes, 'Where are we?'" Still laughing, she continued, "Coming from YOUR child. You, the writer!" I explained that while we hadn't visited the library much (okay, not at all) we went to the bookstore all the time. But at this point I had no credibility. Recently, I told Dillon this story (who has visited the library many times since then). And he said, "I like libraries, but I like bookstores better. I don't like to return the books. I want to keep them." Yes, that is MY child. My child, indeed.