Scribbles at night

Lately I've been relishing the fact that my fiction is my world where I get to create the characters and make them speak and control their actions--a delicious fact for a mother of a headstrong toddler. But today one of my characters (let's call her M) did something completely unexpected. I thought for sure M didn't like another main character in the book--in fact, my rough outline expects major animosity between these women. But there was a flash of friendship between the two. And it felt right.
I can't even begin to imagine how many scenes this will change and how, like my toddler pouring her own apple juice, it will create so much more work for me. But at the same time, it reminds me why I make these characters. And why my children give such richness to my life. Because as much as they are a part of me, it's their quirkiness that teaches and challenges me.
I'm glad that M's showing some individuality--the same way that I'm glad my baby shows curiousity about the world by tasting everything from carpet fluff to banana peels, and the same way I'm glad when my two-year-old requests lunch for three of her imaginary friends. On pink plates. With real food. And drinks. And forks. And napkins folded in triangles.
I can't wait to see what M does next.