I’m upstairs with Gargantubaby — who, now age 6, needs a new nickname (perhaps Gargantufirstgrader) — setting him up to do art. It’s warm the way it always is up here, so I grab one of his bigger books to prop the door open.

Mommy, he says, you can’t do that. You didn’t get my permission.

You’re right, I say, surprised. May I have your permission to use one of your books?

No.

Um. What should I use to prop open the door?

He shrugs. You need to figure that out, he says.

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