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This diary describes the memories of the author as a ten year old girl growing up in New York City from August through June She relates wonderful.
Table of contents

It Happens Every Thursday Comedy Drama. We're No Angels Comedy Crime Romance. Seventh Heaven Drama Romance. Borderline Crime Drama Film-Noir. Pickup on South Street Margie Certificate: Passed Comedy Music Romance. The Suspect Certificate: Passed Drama Thriller.

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Penguin Pool Murder Certificate: Passed Comedy Drama Mystery. Violent Saturday The Lost Moment Drama Film-Noir Romance. Lloyds of London Drama History Romance. Edit Cast Cast overview, first billed only: Alice Faye Charles Brownne Richard Greene Robert Fulton Brenda Joyce Harriet Livingston Andy Devine Robert R. Livingston Fritz Feld Tavern Keeper Ward Bond Regan Clarence Wilson Nicholas Roosevelt Roger Imhof John Jacob Astor Theodore von Eltz Sea Captain Virginia Brissac Brevoort Stanley Andrews Taglines: A spirited belle of the brawling waterfront, fighting for the heart of handsome Robert Fulton print ad.

Nor does she yield on the Saturday point.


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She refuses to get dressed for school. She storms off straight to She takes a black Sharpie and a sheet of paper. She draws another large, scary frowning stick person with wild hair.

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This time the figure also has big, club hands; in the corner, she draws a smiling, smaller stick figure, holding a magnifying glass, examining a shoe print. She then draws a large black X across the whole drawing. She tapes it onto the wall, next to her earlier sign. We go to school that Tuesday. You are the worst mama in the world. Then on the block of her school, her tone abruptly changes. Mama, I love you to the moon and back and back again, she says.

It is terrible to be put in touch with the unconscionable amount of power you have over your child. You are the best girl in the world, she says. She cries.

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Pick me up as soon as possible. I am dimly aware that the thinking on the kind of separation anxiety that G. Only the children who do not feel safe and loved and attached have trouble being away from their caregiver when the time comes. I dismiss this line of thinking. One, because it is unflattering.

But also, I am the mother who is altogether too around.

Before G. I was surprised that no one would take her after, say, a week.

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I read only one book about babies before she was born — a book about getting babies to sleep. But then G. If someone else held her, I felt empty and wrong. If ever I had to be away for a day for work, the way it felt inside of me was as if I had been posted in a distant port for a season of war. I felt this way even as at the same time I knew that my being away was an opportunity for her to bond more closely with her dad. Which is to say: from birth, we had been together nearly all the time. I took her to school most days; I picked her up from school most days; I brought her on work trips; I brought her to dinner with friends.

And though it feels wrong to say it out loud, I feel confident that my daughter knows I love her, and that we are attached. The famous British pediatrician and analyst D. Have I somehow dosed out kindergarten, or life before kindergarten, all wrong? Had I chosen too tender and beautiful a preschool? Have I been around too much? It can feel powerful to find yourself at fault.

And I will always be a prime suspect.


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But these first notions sound off key. Maybe have her dad drop her off? Which helps. A tiny bit. She rages and weeps through September, she rages and weeps through October, she rages and weeps into November. I cancel any plans with friends. I cancel work trips. She begs me to always be there. My acceding to her demand must only confirm her belief that what is happening between us — that every now and again we are apart — is catastrophic.

But the case remains cold. Then at the first parent-teacher conference, I am given an essential clue. She talks to lots of her classmates. She often has something she wants to share or say. I think about that one. She is still crying about going to school at night. Sunday is a particularly horrible day, anticipating the week ahead. But is G. Maybe learning that she can be happy without me is distressing.

I think of the Frog and Toad stories by Arnold Lobel. Frog and Toad are best friends, and other characters hardly even exist in their world. A snail helps deliver a letter; some robins laugh when Toad tries to fly a kite; but Frog and Toad are everything to each other, and no one else, and nothing else, much matters.

Frog is the bigger and more confident and steady of the pair. Toad is more anxious and clingy and lovable and small. He plays the piano. He walks a high wire.

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He is cheered and hurrahed. All the while his best friend, Frog, sitting in the audience, is shrinking. Clapping and shrinking.