It was quarter past six when the babies set out, dragging banners and posters and signs that they'd made. They flung off their booties and took to the sidewalks, A barefooted, bad-tempered baby brigade. "We can't all walk yet, but we're marching in protest," they called to their parents who brought up the rear. "We've plenty to say, and it's time that you heard it. Take notes. You will need them. We'll try to be clear. "We won't wash our faces. We won't eat our mashed peas. We won't wear the frilly clothes great-grandma made. We won't use a tissue. We won't smile on cue. We're a Barefooted, bad-tempered baby brigade!" Excerpted from The Barefooted, Bad-Tempered Baby Brigade by Deborah Diesen All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
