The tower was almost as tall as Pigúiça's nose.
She had spent the whole afternoon stacking round pebbles in the garden. Each pebble that went up hummed softly, plink, plink, as if it were happy to be up so high.
There was only one left. The prettiest pebble of all, blue like her eyes. Pigúiça reached out her paw, very slowly... and the tower wobbled. It wobbled this way, it wobbled that way, and the whole thing came tumbling down. Plink, plonk, plunk.
Pigúiça felt something hot rise up from her tummy all the way to the tips of her ears. She stomped her paws. She growled at the pebbles. She kicked a leaf that hadn't done anything at all. “Silly pebbles! Silly tower! Everything is silly!”
Fofuxo came over at his easy, calm pace and sat down beside her. He didn't say anything. He just stayed there, waiting.
“I'm mad!” yelled Pigúiça. “Super mad! As big as a mountain!”
“I know,” said Fofuxo. “Mad feelings can be really big. Want me to teach you a trick to make them tiny?”
Pigúiça crossed her paws and turned her face away. But she left one ear pointed toward him, just to listen.
“Pretend there's a flower right in front of your nose,” said Fofuxo. “Smell it slowly. Now pretend there's a little candle. Blow on it slowly, without blowing it out.”
Pigúiça smelled the pretend flower. Sniiiff. She blew on the pretend candle. Whoooo. She smelled again. She blew again. And one more time.
On the third time, something happened. A yellow butterfly that had been hiding in a real flower fluttered over and landed right near her nose. “She came!” whispered Pigúiça, holding very still. “Why didn't she come before?” And Fofuxo answered with a smile, “Butterflies like calm places.”
Pigúiça looked at the pebbles scattered on the ground. The mountain of mad was now as small as a grain of sand. She took one more breath and started all over again, one pebble at a time, no rush. This time, she put the blue pebble right in the middle, where it could stay steady.
By the time the pink sky grew dark, the tower was finished. And the pebbles hummed together, a soft little song that made everyone yawn.
In bed, Pigúiça was still doing the trick. Smell the flower... blow the candle... Smell the flower... blow the candle...
Want to try it with her? Smell the flower. Blow the candle. Nice and slow, until sleep comes.
