I've spent the good part of my last week talking to Little Morgan all day on G-chat. She's 10 years old, and I'm able to relate to her on a remarkable level; she's at an age where she's no longer as malleable as aluminum foil, but still lovably naive and sweet. And very, very smart.
That I can relate so well to a 10 year old is ... well, telling.
Over the summer, I was her effective caregiver during daytime hours -- Mama G and Brother G were at work all day, while I was "working" at home on the computer. When Morgan The Little would get bored of ABC Family or building her dream doll house, she'd quietly come peek around the corner from the hallway to see what I was up to. I'd always pretend that I didn't see her nosy eyes, but then I'd get up from my chair, saunter over, slowly, to my purse and fetch out the keys. I'd jingle them a bit and say, "Let's go, kid."
If I were feeling rich that day, we'd go to the regular theaters; more often, I'd take her to the second-run Dollar Cinema (now $1.50, those jerks). We did this nearly every single day for three months.
I miss her.
I've been working on a "book" about her -- the first chapter can be read here, for anyone interested.