*Isobel is home sick today with a cough and a cold. We curled up in bed for cuddles and I started to fall asleep (guess I’m coming down with it too), but then she made some funny noises and I opened my eyes.*
“Nyuuuuuyyhhhhhh. Urrrghhhhhnyuuuuh.”
“Is, you better not fart in my bed.”
“No, Mommy, I’m not farting. I’m trying to float up to the ceiling.”
“Uh…”
“NYUUUUUUUUHYHHHHHHHH.”
“Okay, good luck.”
“Thanks! UUURRGHhhhhhhhhhh…”
*Isobel had a best friend in kindergarten named Thalia. She moved away before first grade started. We tried to keep in contact, but at this point, for me to text her mom again would probably hover in the area of stalking… so. I let go.
Isobel’s best friend in first grade was Kara. She moved away before second grade started. They’re still best buddies- Is talks about Kara almost every day, and they Facetime each other. They write letters and send packages. But they haven’t seen each other since the beginning of the summer.*
“Mom. I wonder if I’ll ever see Kara or Thalia again.”
“Well, babe, I’m sure you’ll see Kara pretty soon. But Thalia… I’m not so sure.”
“Why?
“Well, you remember we had what, two playdates set up with Thalia, and they had to cancel both?”
“Yes…”
“I texted her mom, but she hasn’t texted back. She might have gotten a new phone or something… and I stopped texting her because it was kind of getting weird.”
“But I’ll see Kara?”
“Of course! We’ll organize ourselves and visit them, or maybe you’ll see her when they come up here during the holidays to see her grandmas.”
“But Thalia. I’ll never see her again?”
“We don’t know that, babe. Maybe you’ll see her somewhere, and then you two can hug.”
“When we see Kara, we need to buy her those Cadbury cookies she likes. Thalia likes Milanos.”
“I can score cookies, no problem.”
“Good night, Mommy.”
“Have good dreams, babe.”
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*Most mornings, I get up between 5:30 and 6 am. I get to have a shower (alone!) and start preparing for our day before Isobel gets up, usually around 6:40. Today, Is got up a little early, so we were in the kitchen together at 6:40. I noticed the sun rising outside of the east-facing window, and called her over to look. She was amazed.*
“Oh, Mommy! Look at the sky!”
“That’s sunrise, baby. Pretty, yes?”
“It’s like a tie dye! It’s pink and orange and that’s like turquoise…”
“I see! Look over there, purple, too!”
“Oooooh!!! It’s like a different rainbow.”
*Is had a bit of a stomachache when she got home from school. Was it the heat? Is she sick? No way to know ’til tomorrow. She’s feeling better- sleeping now. Before she goes to bed every night, we go over good dreams- a list of good things to dream about, in case she has a bad dream, she can remember our list and grab some material for a good dream right away.
Tonight, Isobel had a different list for me…*
“Mom, I have a different list.”
“Okay.”
“My number one favorite thing is you and Dad.”
“Awww…”
“Then, hanging with other friends.”
“That’s nice.”
“And small animals.”
“Of course.” I tell her to hang on a second and I bounce into the kitchen and grab a notebook.
“And pink, soft, sparkly things.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Ha! And swimming and Biggie’s!” (her fave restaurant)
“Good choice…”
“And my birthday.”
“Mmmmhmmm. Aw, that’s a nice one…”
“And… well, my room, and my bed.”
“Three more and we have a list of ten!”
“My whole entire house… and my toys.”
“I can see that.”
“Food and drinks.”
“That’s funny, Is, don’t you have a favorite food or drink?”
“No, just put food and drinks. I like food, and I like drinks, so put it down.”
*I comply.*
“And the last one… the last one, is Snuggles.” She holds up her starting-to-get-beat-up rainbow dog toy that she sleeps with every night, and kisses it.
*That’s it, Isobel’s 10 most favorite things at 7 years old.*
*A few weeks ago, my friend gave me some caterpillars to watch for her while they were away. The bugs were supposed to make chrysalides and become beautiful Monarch butterflies that we could then release in her pollinator-friendly garden.
The first one hatched as we watched in awe, and then with mounting concern as the thing flopped around on the bottom of the jar, unable to right itself. I carefully poured the hatching butterfly and all the other chrysalides (all but 1 were on the floor of the jar) into the butterfly net habitat I’d bought in case they hatched while my friend was still away.
The butterfly, whom Isobel named Beauty, managed to climb up the side of the netting, where she hung for a day or so. Her wings were misshapen- curled up at the edges and stuck together. We decided that Beauty would be Isobel’s first pet. Yes, Is had been begging for years to get a kitten, but her first pet ended up being a disabled butterfly. Life is what happens when you’re making other plans, right?
Isobel and Beauty were the best of buddies- Beauty liked to sit in Is’s hand and just hang out and flutter a bit, then go back in her habitat and climb on leaves and enjoy sugar water.
3 days ago, the other one hatched. The other 3 chrysalides didn’t work out- 2 died and the last was a hideously deformed monster that only lived for a few minutes after emerging… who knew so many things could go so wrong with butterflies?
A lot, as it turns out. The new butterfly, named Shippy Whippy, can’t fly- it fell down the stairs yesterday when we released it, instead of gracefully flying away to enjoy an outdoor life pollinating the flowers. We returned Shippy to the butterfly habitat after I caught it as it flapped pitifully in circles on the ground.
Beauty died yesterday. When I broke the bad news to Isobel…*
She came over, looked at Beauty, who was sort of tipped over on the floor of the habitat, and asked, “Mom, are you sure she’s dead? She might just be sleeping.”
“Okay,” I said. “Should we just leave her there for a while?”
“Yes. Maybe butterflies are really heavy sleepers.”
“Okay.”
*Today, we got Beauty ready for her funeral. I sprayed her with a few coats of lacquer- Is wants to keep her body in the butterfly-shaped trinket box I bought to serve as her coffin. But, she doesn’t want to bury it- she wants to keep it in her room. I said okay. Is had a few questions while we prepared Beauty…*
“Mom, I’m really sad.”
“That’s okay, babe. It’s totally normal to be sad when your pet dies.”
“But, I don’t want you to try and cheer me up.”
“Okay. Can I just sit and be sad with you?”
“That would be okay.”
*She put her head on my shoulder and we sat a step down from the box Beauty’s body sat in, drying after the first coat of lacquer.*
“I wonder what it’s like to be dead.”
“I guess we’ll all find out eventually.”
“I bet it’s like sleeping, but never waking up.”
“That sounds AWESOME. Sign my ass up right now!” I slowly tipped over on the steps, eyes closed, next to Beauty’s box.
Is laughs.
“No! Mom! There’ll be no more hugs! You won’t be able to read any more books!”
“Wait a second. No snuggles? No more hanging out with you and Dad?”
“Nope.”
“Ah, then forget it.” I straightened up and turned Beauty over for another coat.
“Mom… And when you’re dead, the birds eat your blood… And you have to hang out in a coffin that’s hard, like Dracula, and there’s not even a blanket.”
“Oh, no way. I’m out. I’m gonna live forever, then.”
“Me, too.”
*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! ❤ *
*After school today, Isobel is sitting at the kitchen table finishing her snack. I join her with a cup of tea and we talk about our days for a few minutes, and then, apropos of nothing, she picks up this little Nutcracker ornament she bought the other day, looks at it thoughtfully, and says…*
“I think that families are like flowers. The petals that fall off are like the people who die, and are dying. And the petals that come on are the new people being born. And there are a lot of flowers in the world, and there are a lot of families in the world.”
*I’m silent for a moment, taking it in, turning it over in my mind, then I get up and grab a slip of paper and a pen and write it all down. I don’t want to lose this.*
“Is, I think the inside of your head is the most beautiful place in the world.”
*Isobel is in first grade. In class, the kids sit grouped together by fours and fives- there is one girl at Is’s table who, sometimes, just isn’t that nice. Today, Is reported that this girl grabbed a boy’s math work and threw it on the floor. Then she turned and said to Is, “Why are you always staring at people?”*
“Mommy, she always says I’m staring at her.”
“Are you?”
“No, I’m just looking around.”
“Okay, did it bother you that she said that?”
“Well, yes.”
“Huh. Well, you could really, really stare at her, like this…” And I stare at Isobel, really hard, and when she starts to smile, I turn my head a little, but don’t smile back, kinda creepy-like.
“But, Mom, that’s not how we do things now.”
“Oh?”
“No, when there’s a problem, we don’t just do something back to someone. Like when you were in school. Like in old times.”
“Huh. Like old times.”
“Yeah. It’s much gentler now.”
“It sounds like it. That’s nice. Okay, so what do you do now? How would you handle it?”
“I already told her I’m not staring at her.”
“Good! That should do it, right?”
“I’m not sure… she says it all the time.”
“Huh. Well, what else can you do?”
“Well, I don’t want to get clipped down, so I could just tell the teacher.”
“That seems like a good idea. Will you do that the next time she bothers you?”
“Yeah! Thanks for solving all my problems!”
“You really solved your problem, Is, if you think about it.”
*We’ve been reading Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince. We’re just getting to the part (spoiler alert) where Dumbledore and Harry are in the cave, about to get the Horcrux. I’m a bit concerned reading this part before Isobel goes to sleep. I stop right before Harry puts the goblet in the water.*
“We’ll finish this part tomorrow, I told you, these books get scarier now. We can read it in the afternoon, we’ll do some Eloise or something else before bed, okay?”
“I think I’m going to have bad dreams anyway!”
“I hope not. Let’s do our good dreams on the monitor.”
*I hug her and stroke her nose a few times, like I’ve done since she was an infant, then go grab the monitor.*
“Want me to go first?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, um, it’s a three day weekend! So, no school on Monday!”
“Ooh! Really?”
“Yep. Your turn.”
“I’m too tired, you just do the good dreams.”
“All right. Let’s see. We got to see Grandma for dinner, that was nice.”
“Yes… …”
“And maybe we’ll go to the beach on Monday, it’s supposed to be good weather.”
“The beach! We can go to the beach, instead of school! I can play in the sand?”
“Sure, baby, it’ll be fun. So, dream about that, okay?”
“Mommy, I think we just came up with the medicine for bad dreams.”
“I sure hope so.”
P.S. She had GOOD DREAMS last night! Not one nightmare. The medicine works!
*She’s supposed to be sleeping. It’s been a busy day- school, swimming lesson (in the big pool today!), and dinner with a friend. Plus, I am rockin’ my new ‘always patient mom, goddamn it’ self. I’m trying to, anyway. Then, on the monitor…*
“Mom. I made up a word.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Wanna hear it?”
“Sure.”
“Twickerninge.”
“Okay. What does it mean?”
“I’ll tell you when I find out.”
“Haha, okay babe. Go to sleep, it’s getting late.”
“Okay. Good night.”
*Some time passes, just a little.*
“Mom.”
“Yeah, babe.”
“It means an animal eating. Like, look, twickerninge over there, standing up. See, I used it in a sentence.”
“That is amazing.”
“I know, right?”
“Good night, babe.”
“Good night, Mommy.”
Why, Mommy? 