During her third Christmas, Clara Grace had been somewhat inundated with gingerbread houses. She had made one with her mommy artfully placing shredded wheat shingles on the roof and stealing gumdrop bushes. Then, her nana helped her construct one of graham crackers in Michigan. While taking a bath on Thursday, December the twenty-eighth, Clara Grace began pounding on the bathroom wall with her fists. After this peculiar ritual she began pinching the spot she had buffeted and then bringing her fingers to her mouth.
“What are you doing?” Clara Grace’s daddy had to ask.
“I’m eating the house,” Clara Grace informed him matter-of-factly.
“You’re eating the gingerbread house?” her daddy inquired.
“No, this house,” she told him. “I’m smashing it with a hammer and eating it.”
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