Forty-five minutes into K’s nap–a very quiet, uneventful forty-five minutes–she calls me into her room. Surprised, I go in to become even more surprised. She’s still in her bed, but she’s now surrounded by about twenty different books. Naptime clearly does not mean the same thing to her as it does to me. “This book scary,” she says as she hands me Where the Wild Things Are. I’m sure there are a lot of things I probably could or should have said in this situation, but instead I took the book from her, laid it aside, and said, “Well, you don’t need to read it.” And then I walked out. I can blame this on busyness or hump day or pre-vacation distraction, but the truth is, sometimes I’d just rather avoid parenting.