Left hand, Left hand, Right hand, Right

Our beloved book by Dr. Seuss, “The Foot Book” was pulled down from our book shelf yesterday, cobwebs blown off.  Too young now for our girls to read, too sentimental to pass on.

The inscription on the inside cover: “Merry Christmas, Autumn 2003. Love Grandma and Grandpa.”  She was 19 months old.

“I have to learn my left and my right for horse riding, Mum, so this book is perfect,” said Dahlia, hopping up onto the bed for bedtime stories.

As I hold up my hand, I tell her it’s simple, whichever hand makes an ‘L’ shape is your left. Dahlia holds them up, looks at her left and then turns around her right hand, “They both do, Mum.”

It’s the hand that makes the ‘natural L’, I explain.

“So, why doesn’t my other hand make and ‘R’?” she asks.

A perfect “Dillyism” and Dr. Seuss logic at it’s best.

And it turns out, we’re not too old to dust off a good Dr. Seuss.

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