The blocks were stacked almost to the ceiling, or so it felt to Ivy, when the tower gave a little wobble and — clatter, clatter, crash! — down it tumbled, every block rolling across the floor.
"No, no, NO!" Ivy said, and stomped one foot, and felt her face go hot like a little sun. The tower had taken so long to build. Now it was only a puddle of blocks again.
Mom looked up from the couch, but she didn't rush over and fix it. "That looks like a big, mad feeling," she said gently. "Want to find your quiet spot?"
Ivy knew the quiet spot. It was the soft rug by the window, where the curtain made a little cave of light. She stomped over to it — stomp, stomp, stomp — and flopped down with a huff.
Through the window, the sky was turning purple, and one star was already awake, blinking like it had a secret.
"One star," Ivy whispered, and took a slow breath in... and a long breath out. The hot feeling in her face cooled just a little.
Another star popped out. "Two stars," Ivy said, breathing in... and out, like blowing on soup that was too warm. Her shoulders came down from up by her ears.
Three stars. Four stars. Ivy counted slower now, breath by breath, until her hands weren't fists anymore, just hands, resting soft in her lap.
"Five stars," Ivy said, and this time her voice came out calm, not stompy at all.
She looked back at the puddle of blocks across the room. It didn't look so terrible now. It looked like a tower that simply wanted to be built again, a little more carefully this time.
Ivy crawled back over and picked up the biggest block first, setting it down nice and steady. Then another, and another, humming quietly, checking each one before adding the next.
By the time the tower stood tall and did not wobble, the window was full of stars, more than Ivy could count. She yawned, a big sleepy yawn, and curled up on the rug to count just a few more before bed found her, warm and still, like a little cave of quiet light.