May 11, First think in the morning

*I get up at either five thirty or six in the morning. I grab a shower, then head into the kitchen to start breakfast and make Is’s school lunch. Is usually gets up at twenty to seven and wanders into the kitchen soon after. Friday, I was standing at the sink, cooking Is’s lunch and drinking my tea. I hadn’t really used my brain yet; this is all automatic setting stuff I do in the morning. When I turn to ask Is what she wants to eat, I catch her standing in the middle of the room, in sun rays, wildly waving her arms. It’s that time of year when the sun streams through the northeast-facing kitchen windows before seven in the morning.*

“Um. Is, what are you doing?”
“There are so many of them!”
“Of what, baby?”

*At this point, I think, o shit, sugar ants… But no. She starts waving her arms again in the air, batting at invisible things like a cat does.*

“What is this stuff?”
“What stuff, baby… oh, oh, it’s dust! It’s just dust motes in the air. You can see them because of the way the sun is shining in here.”
“I want them out of our house!”
“Ha, dude, nobody has a dust-free house.”
“But what IS it?”
“Dust? It’s made mostly from our dead skin cells that slough off… and bacteria we bring in from outside, and stardust from comets and meteorites.”
“What? That’s crazy.”
“I know! But it’s true.”

*She runs away, I think to go to the bathroom, but she returns with the crappy little plastic microscope I bought her years ago for looking at leaves and whatnot. She holds the microscope in the air and looks through it.*

“Is, what are you doing?”
“I’m gonna see which is which!”
“Um…”
“I can’t tell!”
“Haha, of course you can’t, not like that. Okay, lets have breakfast and I’ll tell you all about how microscopes work.”
“Okay. Can you make me some oatmeal?
“Of course.”
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March 31, 2018 – the Navigator of the story

*Isobel is watching ‘A Series of Unfortunate Events,’ while I am attempting to finish my paper for Philosophy (Descartes and dreams, what fun!). Anyway, she stops the show on her iPad, looks over at me working on my computer, and says…*

“Mom. It’s nice they have a navigator telling the story, so you know what’s happening.”
“What?”
“A navigator. You know, he tells the story so you know what’s going on.”
“Oh, no. Not a navigator. A narrator. A navigator is a person who finds directions for a trip, usually using maps, and decides the way to go. A narrator is a person who tells a story, like they talk through a movie, so you can follow the plot.”
“But a navigator tells the story.”
“No, baby, the word you want to use is narrator. But in a way, I guess a narrator is like a navigator- they both help you find your way. In a story or a movie, the person talking over the acting is usually a narrator.”
“Okay. I almost got lost in this movie.”
“Very cool. Enjoy!”
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March 19, An Apple’s Way Of Life

*Every day Is comes home from school and has a snack, then does her homework, then she can play or do whatever she likes. Today, I was cutting up apples for her snack (she requested apples with peanut butter and some popcorn), when I noticed that the apple had a scar. Isobel had two long scars on her leg from previous hip surgeries- one along the bikini line from several open reductions, and one on her outer thigh from a femoral osteotomy and subsequent hardware removal. Most of the time she’s fine with her scars, but sometimes she doesn’t like them. I told her that scars are just a way that you can see how strong you are- that you were stronger than whatever gave you that scar, and now you’re healed. So I pointed out the apple’s scar.*

“Hey, Is, look at this apple- it has a scar!”
She looks. “Just like me!”
“That’s right.”
“Huh.”
“I’ll be done making your snack in a minute.”
“Should we eat it?”
“Sure, it’s fine. It’s just a spot where the apple rested on a branch or something, that’s why there’s a scar in the skin.”
“So it didn’t do anything to get the scar?”
“No, I don’t think apples don’t do much except grow, right?”
She smiles and leaves the room to put her homework on her desk. From the other room she calls to me, “Hey, apples don’t even have a way of life!”

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March 16, 2018, first thing in the morning.

*This morning, Isobel wakes up and doesn’t come right into the kitchen. I putter around, preparing her lunch for school for a bit. When she still hasn’t come in a few minutes later, I find her in her room, sitting on the rug, looking thoughtful.*

“Hey, babe, you okay? What can I make you for breakfast?”
“Mom, I’m thinking.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I’m thinking about a giant eye test.”

*I get a picture in my head of a regular eye test poster, you know the kind, with the capital letter E facing different ways, but the poster is as big as a door, or the wall. Then I remember we’ve been reading a lot of fairy tales lately, so I wonder…*

“What do you mean? A giant eye test, like the test itself is giant? Or an eye test for a giant, like a test for Grawp, Hagrid’s brother?”
“An eye test for a giant. Like, ‘Can you see this house? Can you see this book? Can you see me? Or am I just a tiny speck?'”
“Isobel, that’s amazing. I wonder if anybody else has ever once thought about that.”
“Hmm.”
“Babe, we’ve got to get to school. Want some oatmeal?”

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This image is a photo of an opera stage, built for a festival in Bregenz, Austria. Read more about the fantastic stages here: http://twistedsifter.com/2011/08/outdoor-opera-on-the-lake-stages-of-bregenz/

February 17, 2018, WTF, Fairy Tales?

*Isobel and I have been working our way through a vintage copy of ‘Grimm’s Fairy Tales’ at bedtime. I found it for fifteen cents at a thrift shop; it’s got a Kaye Nielsen illustration on the front cover, and a history of the Grimm brothers as the introduction. It’s easily the best fifteen cents I’ve ever spent.
A lot of the fairy tales in this book are pretty harsh- they’re the original stories, not cleaned up for kids, so there’s plenty of graphic eye-pecking, dancing ’til death, and corpses discussing secrets while dangling from the gallows. Many tales have odd terms that Isobel hasn’t heard before, which often lead to lots of questions. Last night was no different…*

“And then he lay down and she loused him.”
“Mom? What’s that word, ‘loused?'”
“Ah, it’s gross. You sure you want to know?”
“Mooooom….”
“Okay, okay. So, remember these stories are from hundreds of years ago. People didn’t have indoor plumbing for bathrooms; toilets, showers, sinks and such… and they didn’t bathe very often. So most of them had bugs in their hair- lice. ‘Lousing him’ means she picked bugs out of his hair.”
“OH MY GOD, MOMMY, THAT’S DISGUSTING! Bugs? IN THEIR HAIR?! GAH!”
“I told you it was gross. Wait ’til you hear where they went to the bathroom.”
“Nooooooo!!!!”
“Hahahaha, maybe next time. Should I get back to it?”
“Ew, yes.”

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February 13, 2018, Going Swimming

*Isobel’s taken swimming lessons since she was eighteen months old. There are few things she loves more than being in the water. And she’s fearless; she’ll just as happily jump off the starting block into the deep end (9 feet!) and swim in the lap pool as in the smaller, warmer, more shallow therapy pool. I originally started swimming with her to try and build up her core muscles after the spica casts treating her hip dysplasia left her abdominal, back, and leg muscles weak. But she loves it so much, we’ve kept up with it. She goes once a week. This week, she had some new questions…*

*Putting on her suit, right before her lesson*

“Hey, Mom.”
“Yeah? Let’s move it, we’re gonna be late.”
“How come girls have to cover our boobs in the pool? Boys can just wear bottoms, but girls have tops and bottoms. Why is that?”

*Since we have two minutes to get Is into the pool, and I really don’t want to explain the sexualization of women’s breasts to my six-year-old, I go blank for a second.*

“Mom?”
“Uh. Yes. Yes! Okay, well, you know how everybody has private parts, right? And you keep those covered up in public?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, so girls have extra private parts.”
“Really?”
“Yes. We win for private parts. We have more than boys.”
“WOW!”
“I know! Let’s get going.”
“Mom, I have tiny boobs.”
“They’re perfect, baby. Let’s plow.”

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February 6, 2018

*Isobel is getting ready for Valentine’s Day- a whole holiday made of love, glitter, hearts, candy and hugs? Forget it, it’s like the inside of her head. She’s got big plans to make Valentines for all her classmates.*

“Mom, I’ve got the class list! I can start on the Valentines. When is Valentine’s Day?”
“Eight days away.”
“So, how long is that?”
“Well, let’s look on your calendar- see, it’s here, on the fourteenth of the month. One week and one day from now.”
“Ohhhh! Okay. Well, Mommy, you better get all your work done early that day.”
“Hmm? Why?”
“Because I’m going to go to school and do the Valentines and then I’m coming home and going to hug you for the rest of the entire day.”
“Really? That sounds amazing.”
“Yes. I’m putting it on my calendar.”
“Okay, I’ll put it on my calendar, too.”

*I’m sorry I haven’t written anything in a long time. I just started college! I was feeling overwhelmed but now I think I’m hitting my stride- and Isobel said this to me today, and it seemed like the perfect thing to share with you. I’ll try to post a story once a week. Thanks for sticking around! ❤ *
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November 3, 2017- Sore throat

*Isobel is home today with a sore throat and ears. It’s not strep- phew! We took her to the doctor this morning to make sure, as she had strep four times last year. Everything’s okay, no fever. Her throat hurts when she swallows water, so I made her some blueberry tea with honey. What she really wants (and always wants when she’s sick) is a Pedialyte popsicle- but I think I’ve convinced her that it will only hurt her throat worse to have something frozen if cold water hurts…*

“Mom, this is disgusting.”
“Aw, I’m sorry, but you said the cold water hurts your throat, so the pop will make it worse, babe.”
“I hate tea.”
“There are like a million kinds of tea. How about some black tea with cream and sugar?”
“I guess I could try it…”

*She won’t have soup either, even if I put a shitload of noodles in there, so I try the black tea, light and sweet. It’s almost cake it’s so good. I give her a graham cracker and half a cup of tea.*

“Well, this isn’t so… oh uggghhhhhh. It tastes like air!”
“Air?”
“Like nothing!”
“Oh, well, maybe it’s…”
“It’s like garbage water!”
“Damn, Is, that’s harsh for tea. It’ll make your throat feel better though, if you drink it. Can you just try a little?”
“Maybe it makes my throat feel better, but it makes my tongue sick!”

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November 1, 2017- After her bath

*After Isobel’s bath today, she is drying off when she stops, looks up at me, and says…*

“Mom. If there were no girls, there would be no babies.”
“Right. But the girls still need boys.”

*Now, since the kid is only six, I’ve only explained the process of how a baby grows and is born- not how it actually got IN THERE. I’m sure that conversation is inescapable, but I’m not rushing into that part of the whole thing.*

“But why? Only girls can have babies.”
“That’s right. But girls need boys to start the baby- like remember, the egg comes from the girl, and the sperm comes from the boy, and they fit together, and then the baby grows in the girl.”

*She considers this a moment, her head tilted to the side, turquoise turban getting darker as it wicks water from her freshly washed hair.*

“Kind of like a puzzle.”
“What, a baby?”
“Yeah, the pieces fit together- to make a baby puzzle.”
“You got it.”

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Saturday, October 21, Big Ducks

*We go to a Japanese restaurant in New York City sometimes, now, more often since I’ve had my hips fixed and can get out and about. Tonight, we met some friends there for dinner. This place amazes Isobel- she not only loves the food, but the bathroom is covered in graffiti. We were there once and she wasn’t eating, so I told her she could write one thing on the bathroom wall if she ate her dinner- and now it’s a thing we do every time we go. Tonight, after dinner, she motions for me to take her to the bathroom, and asks if I have my Sharpie.*

“You got it, Mom?”
“Yes, I remembered…”
“Okay.”

*We go in the bathroom, and as Isobel is choosing a spot for her artwork, she starts to read the walls. I was afraid of this…*

“Mommy. It says, wait, it says, ‘I love big ducks.'”
“Um, yes.” **THAT IS NOT WHAT IT SAID.**
“But why would someone write that on a wall?”
“No idea, babe. Maybe they’re really into ducks, like you’re into flamingos.”

*She stands back and stares at the wall for a moment. I’ve got to distract her before she figures out it says DICKS and not DUCKS, and the next question comes at me.*

“Hey, Is, look at this weird sticker. What are you gonna write?”
“Oh, I got it all figured out! I’m gonna write WE WILL ROCK YOU.”
“That’s perfect. Let’s go.”

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