Jenny’s adorable twin daughters—four-year-olds adopted from China—had stopped to mess with the spout of water that I knew for certain had overshot the drinking fountain’s basin for at least ten years. Jenny waved to me while she called over her shoulder, “Come on, girls!” then she twirled her raised arm and fist overhead, as if she worked a lasso up there that she soon would turn and drop over the dawdling twins. When they continued to ignore her, she called in my direction, “Is anybody witnessing this? Can I get a witness here?” I laughed and wagged my hand in the air as Jenny abandoned her cowpoke bit and proceeded to transform herself into a dull-eyed bull (head below her shoulders, one foot pawing at the linoleum). She adored the twins but liked to act beleaguered. “Look at me, girls!” she called. “I’m turning into the serious mother!” Bobbed, silky black hair flying straight out from their heads, the girls came running. Poppy and Dolly. Darlings in lace-trimmed anklets and overalls decorated with pink and purple hearts and flowers.
