My Daily Miracle: Merry, full of vim

Whoa.  Double rainbow.

Yesterday Merry finished the ninth draft of Magnficent Maple.  She read it in an hour or two.  "I'm done!"  she sang. 
"Great!"  I said.  "Why don't you think about it and then I'll discuss it with you tomorrow?"
"Let's discuss it now," she said, motioning to a chair in a very grown up way.  "So," she said, tenting her fingers.  And then she proceeded to burn my houses down.  Flames licked me.  I swear it.  She delivered the bad news in such a calm, collected way that I realize that someday she'll make a killer CEO.

But the bad news didn't last, thank goodness, and then she proceeded to give me a detailed, bulleted list of improvements I could make to my book.  "Don't touch the end," she said.  "Don't touch such-and-such.  But you've got to do something about the middle."  She pointed out several problems and areas for development with stunning clarity.  Then she got up and left to brush her teeth.

When I came into the living room, my in-laws looked up and chuckled. "Has she been reading literary criticism?"  Mom asked.  Then she added, "I guess I'll think twice before asking Merry what she thinks."

"Yup.  She torched me," I said.  Then I proceeded to jot down all the edits she mentioned--a good half-page of them.

And I have to say, I am absolutely delighted.  Her feedback was perhaps the best, most specific feedback I've ever gotten on Magnficent Maple.  How to make Maple magnificent, by Merry Cockroft.

They're getting rather tall.

Did I tell you that the other day she came down and said, "I've got the best idea for a picture book."  I almost laughed her off until she began to outline the best ideas for a picture book I've heard in many moons, about an old man and a mallard duck at a park.  She gave me the whole outline and it was so absolutely charming I was sure that if I'd thought of it first, it would have been my first published picture book in a couple years.  "Maybe you and I could write it together," I suggested hopefully.  "Nope," she said.  "I'm going to write it."  As she walked away, Martin made the sound of a match striking and something blowing to smithereens.  Translation:  Your eleven-year old daughter just blew you out of the water."

Yeah, she did, Pops.

I grouted the piece that Merry designed and her class made.  I'd bought it last year at the school art auction.  I love it!