Youngest one has gone to school camp. There's a list of prohibited items, including confectionery. Needless to say at the bus stop they're all packing enough to open a sweet shop. They're like bees so laden with pollen they can hardly fly.
Her sisters pass on the secrets of generations for smuggling candy. "Pack it with your tampons," they say. "Then no one checks."
That weird age: all kid, all grown.
This evening we all miss her. We keep opening the door to her room.