Julia has a dollhouse in her room. It’s really old. And I’m not allowed to touch it. If I do, Julia runs straight into my room and grabs my dollhouse and shakes it hard. But my big sister is asleep. She’s on her tummy and her face is turned away. Julia can’t see that I moved the tiny furniture, which is supposed to be on the top floor, down to the bottom floor.

In here I can’t hop. Then she’ll see me. I have to sneak. If Julia wakes up, if she sees me by the dollhouse she’ll scream, and maybe even jerk on my arm.

Mom is sitting on a chair in the kitchen, laughing a little. You can’t hear it, but she’s smiling while she watches my five-year-old hopping feet. She’s been happy for a while now, and it’s so nice when Mom laughs, it doesn’t matter if it dribbles onto the floor a little when you drink orange juice straight out of the carton, or if you drop a little sugar and flour on the kitchen table because you’re baking. I grab onto the edge of the table and pull myself up into Mom’s lap. It’s always so easy to talk to her. I like to put my ear to her tummy and listen to how her voice sounds deep down inside before it comes out.

After I sit on Mom’s lap I like to hop on one leg out to the creaky wicker chair in the hallway, to Dad. He likes to sit there, he reads a lot of newspapers, and it’s a little quieter out there with the jackets and the umbrellas. I listen. Yes, it is, it is quieter. And the chair is so big, almost like an armchair. I’m able to squeeze in next to him. I think he likes when I sit there. Then he can still use his arms to flip the pages of his big, rustling newspapers.

Eliot and Julia and Mama and Papa. I think I like them even more than before. I can talk as much as I want. And they listen.

It’s fun to turn five.

And then keep celebrating it for a few more days and nights.

I sing it again. Happybirthdaytoyooou. Happybirthdaytoyooou. I sing it loud, really loud, trying to sing over the knocking on the door. Then more knocking, harder this time. Finally I stop singing, and hop down from Dad’s chair, and run super fast. I stand on my tippy-toes and jump as high as I can. I’m just able to grab on and turn the tiny bar.

Mom taught me how. I am always supposed to lock the door behind me. The shiny bar should be turned to look like a mouth and not a nose.

And that’s the one I’m trying to turn right now.

Chapter 2