Leading up to my trip to Venice, the girls and I read the book Olivia Goes to Venice a few times.
Olivia tours around Venice with her family: Getting lost, eating gelato, and admiring the palazzos on the Grand Canal.
She’s on a quest for the perfect souvenir – a mask, lace, a glass chandelier, a gondola … She can’t quite land on it.
Until she does. At the end, Olivia proclaims she found it.
“One of the actual Stones of Venice,” said Olivia.
“From the bell tower.”
Her mom disagrees.
“OLIVIA!” said her mother.
“If everyone took a piece of Venice
with them, the city would fall down.
Now leave that with the waiter.
We’ve got to get to the airport.”
Olivia and her family leave the Piazza San Marco, as the bell tower crumbles to the ground.
Olivia had taken the stone. An actual stone of Venice.
My youngest took the story to heart.
The morning of my departure, as I was leaving her at preschool, she grabbed my hand.
“Mommy,” she cautioned, biting her lower lip and widening her eyes. “Don’t take a rock from Venice.”
“I promise I won’t,” I said, kissing her head.
I just love the candor of littles.