Mary and George are like the proverbial peas in a pod. They enjoy nothing more than a quiet night of reading by the fireplace or sharing a bottle of wine on the deck while the kids romp in the yard. They are generally go-along, get-along folks, savoring tranquility, able to take a stand on an important matter but disliking arguments and raised voices, leading by way of example rather than command, delighting more in a leisurely afternoon at the beach than in some high-powered office party.
Then there’s Grace, their 10-year-old who takes charge of her younger brother and sister like a junior Napoleon. Grace is bright, impatient, and practical. She dislikes schoolgirl drama and can argue with the fierce tenacity of a lawyer—“Why do I have to go to bed so early?” “Why can’t I wear these shoes with this dress?” Like some radio commentators and pundits, she believes she’s right all the time. When friends come to play, it’s Grace who leads the activities, assigns kids to teams, determines whether they should play kickball or perform a play she’s written, and makes sure Sammy keeps his hands off the cookies until she’s poured milk for everyone.
