When we walk outside Leila says she is going to look for shooting stars. Almost home, Ali complains, "I can't see shooting stars." "I can't either," I tell him. "Maybe somebody blow them. Maybe God did," he decides.
I ask Ali to share his cookie with me. He refuses. Leila offers me a piece of hers. "You're so generous. That's so nice," I tell her. Then Ali decides to offer me a piece, too. "Psychology!" I crow.
"I want a tiger," Leila tells me. "A baby one." "What will he eat?" I ask. "Not your brother."
"I want a tiger," Ali says. "A little one." He holds his thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart to show how big." "What will he eat?" I ask him. "My foot," he replies.