For posterity, is all: Dear God, It’s me! Thank you for a wonderful day. Actually (Mom, can I say actually? – Yes, you can say actually), OK, actually, thank you for hedgehogs, too. I think they are just so funny when they sneeze. Please help me to sleep good. Thank you for my hair and
Toddler books. Some of them are nuts, Amen? Just yesterday, I plucked a ripe one from the yellowed oak library shelf and I flipped through the first few pages, then a few more, then finally the end and I still have no earthly intimation of the plot. There was a dinosaur and a cherry pie,
Fall is ending. Our last unseasonably warm stretch is behind us, and I’ve traded my straw hat for wool. — The highlight of her evening is Octonauts. She likes it because Dashy (or is it Tweak?) talks like a Country-Western star and Bee has, since, adopted this trait for herself. Where’s mah coat? I need
We used to call her the ‘Dance for me’ baby. At two weeks young, she’d look at you with blank eyes and blink, expressionless. Brow furrowed. Eyes glaring. She, the statue. We, the minions. She willed us to entertain her. She lorded over us daily with that steely face and when friends would come to
“I like Dad better than you.” Well, she said it. My fear had materialized in a single statement, and you know, the context of these things matter. I had thought she’d say it in the midst of a lecture, or when I was asking her to do a Not Fun thing that perhaps Ken doesn’t
Bee. Last week, you played with Barnacles, Peso, Shellington, Kwazii, Dashy and Trick (whom I am mispronouncing, you tell me). They are your friends in Ecuador, and they are found in the treetops, but sometimes they move to the fish pond and you must call them each, one by one, until they float to the
Bee is 3. We’ve spent the week in tiny, intermittent celebrations – a slice of cake at one grandmother’s house, a trip to the ice cream shop with another. It has been quiet, with joy. It has been sweet. Yesterday, she ran around with the fly swatter for an hour, challenging herself to exterminate all
She wants a treat when we visit the coffee shop. On pointed toes, eyes stretched atop the counter. “Breakfast bar, please.” I won’t always say yes to a breakfast bar, I say. I know, she says. I do. I always say yes to a breakfast bar. — I am crying, on the floor. I am