My parents bought a special, slightly miniature beach chair for Bird. It was red. She thought it was totally the bees’ knees. (BTW, when I use that expression with her, she looks at her knees with alarm). She spent the majority of her indoor hours putting her babies in time out in a corner and then sitting in it with her legs crossed like a lady and her back to the offender. Or sitting in it with one of my dad’s giant cop-style flashlights, waving it around and having long conversations with nobody, like she was a guest on Invisible Letterman. Or standing up and singing loudly out of the stray detective paperbacks that come with a rented beach house, pretending to be in church.