What to do when you are 8

I'm fascinated by the writings of my daughter. I find them all over the house. She must write a lot! The writings are such an interesting window into her brain. Today I found a short story about an elephant, the beginnings of a novel about someone whose parents died, and a tiny book about the size of a quarter with paper cut out in interesting designs. And this list (which I think is not too terribly personal):

I appreciate number 11. She really did clean the litter box. Number 8 is supposed to be "Lift Heavy Things" and number 14 is "juggle". Wherever it says, "1 mille" or "1 mile" that means to walk/ run a mile. I believe she achieved all of the things on the list, except for "walk on front hands."

The Grim Reaper by Big Z

My daughter, who just turned eight, is passing the time this evening by drawing pictures. This one is my favorite.

He looks very... enthusiastic, doesn't he? So eagerly clutching his scythe. I almost wouldn't mind leaving this mortal coil with him.

Holes

We stood outside at 7 AM on Tuesday, and the bus came and took Z away to third grade! The only thing was, as she ran across the street and hopped on the bus, her backpack bounced up, and I saw that she had a big hole in the butt of her pants! Of course.

I let her ride away on the bus, though. Once these things are set in motion, there's no stopping them. And then I fretted. She was going to a new school, a Big Kid school, and a hole that showed her underwear, on the first day? This just would not do. And so, while I would have preferred to eat my bonbons and watch my stories, and chill like a ho on a Sunday, instead I grabbed a pair of shorts (the ones with the pandas and bamboo print) and drove on up to her school. 

I had no idea where to go or what to do when I got there. There were gazoodles of people! I couldn't believe it. People taking pictures or just hanging out, worrying. I saw a friend who said, 

     "I know it's against the rules, but I wish they would let us go inside with them on the first day!" 

      As she spoke, my eyes scanned the masses. Brushing aside my friend like a gnat (I feel bad about it now) I continued on my mission. I saw someone with a name badge on a lanyard,

     "Where are the third graders who rude the bus?" I asked. She only scowled at me. I looked more closely at her name badge. It said she was from Saint Mary's Hospital. "Oh! I'm sorry!" 

      Then I ran into another friend, who hugged me, and I told her how worried I was that Z would be made fun of, on the first day of school, and she told me about Christopher and how, by his rules, his mom wasn't allowed to be there. They grow up fast!

     Then I saw her! I saw Z! Sitting on the asphalt. I went up to her. 

      "I thought that was you," she said. 

       "You have a hole in the butt of your pants!"

        Then she felt her arse. 

       "Hey!" She said, delighted, "I do! That's a really big hole!"

        "I brought you some shorts to change into!" 

         "Awww. Do I have to?"

         "What? You don't want to change? People can see your underwear!"

         "I know. It's just that those are my least favorite shorts."

     

My Daughter's Garden

My daughter is seven. She's been begging me and hounding me to till part of the lawn so that she could have her "very own vegetable garden." I didn't really think about it until just now, but the only vegetables she really eats are seaweed and cucumbers. We don't live by the seashore, so the seaweed is imported. And now she's planted her garden. This is her garden:

The sign is an old one. "Cucumber," it says. One lovely cucumber plant. (Her piano teacher gave it to her.) May it be fruitful. 

How to Cook a Turkey

By Little Z (age 7):

Click on Picture for Biggering

This was for a contest at our local supermarket. I'm not sure if this is really what they had in mind, but I'm glad she knows where turkeys come from. (They already have the heads and the feet cut off at the supermarket.)

Satan

At five AM this morning, I awoke with a shriek. A midget Gollom creature was hovering over me in the dark. It said in a creepy whisper,

"There's something scary in my room." 

It was Little Z.

"Oh! It's you. What is it?"

"I don't know. Just something scary."

We went to her room to investigate what she later would describe as "a one eyed monster." We turned on the lights, and the one eyed monster turned out to be this horror: 

The peacock, actually. Not Bodkay.

I went back to sleep and I dreamed that I lived in a giant mansion with all of my extended family. Grandma Ruth said, "let's go to the attic and look at the Halloween pictures." So, we started walking to the attic. Strangely, to get to the attic, we had to go down. Down, down, down the steps we went, until we got to an open room with a sleeping vampire and some statues. Grandma introduced me to one of the statues,

"This is Satan," she said. 

As soon as she introduced Satan, the statue came to life. Satan started gnashing his teeth and snarling at me, but he was only four inches tall. I immediately took out my iPhone to get a picture of Satan and post it to Facebook. But he wouldn't stand still! Damn you, Satan. Why can't you just cooperate? What's wrong with you?

Suddenly, the vampire woke up. She had red teeth, and came lunging toward the back of my neck, but right before she bit me, she stopped and posed with me for a selfie. She never bit me. It was all about the picture. 

Where do golf clubs come from?

It's the question every parent dreads,

"Mommy, where do golf clubs come from?"

You stammer for a moment... sweat beads out from under your bra... your normally pleasant child now seems like a Gestapo interrogator, busting into your house at four in the morning on a cold and dark night in Sebastopol (or maybe Graton). You try to begin as so many doomed souls before you have begun,

"Um... well, it's like this... there's some birds... and there's some bees, and, um-"

When you finally do explain it, the child is horrified,

"Is that where you and daddy got your golf clubs?" she yells, indignant and horrified. "I don't believe it!"

Unfortunately, for me, it is too late. My daughter has already popped the question. But for the rest of you, I give you this charming lie:

Fresh, Organic Golf Clubs

Golf clubs grow on farms, and then they are delivered into your chimney by a stork.

I give you permission to use this photo with your children. Don't feel bad about lying to them. Everyone does it. One day, when they are more mature, you can tell them the truth about where golf clubs come from.

Until then, keep up the mindless parenting! And remember: I know best. Always.  

Cluttered #2 or The Value of Summer Boredom

The creative process for my daughter:

1. Get bored.

2. Complain a lot about being bored.

3. Read books.

4. Attempt to re-create something seen in a book.

5. Usually, she's completely happy with the result, no matter how messed up it appears to an adult.



Afterwards, I don't know what to do with all of this stuff! [If you receive some of it in the mail, it's because I have too much.] But I think there is great value to summer boredom. You can almost see her brain growing as she tries to figure out the best way to create something beautiful.

The trouble with not having television...

The trouble with not having a television is that your child then does not understand the finer points of the Santa Claus mythology. Case in point: Little Z wrote her name on the coffee table in crayon. I explained that this was naughty behavior, and Santa would know, and that he may not bring her presents if she continued writing on coffee tables.

"That's not true. Santa doesn't know," she said.

"No, really," I said. "Santa knows everything you do."

"I don't see any elves around." (She actually looked around when she said this.)

"He doesn't have to have the elves. He just knows."

"No he doesn't."

"Dude! Seriously! He doesn't have to send elves! Santa knows everything! He's magical like that. HE JUST KNOWS."

"That seems unlikely," she said.

She's five.

And I thought I was being such a good parent, only letting her watch that educational PBS crap on Netflix. Now she's questioning the omnipresence of Santa Claus? What next?

She also, in another conversation, said that she found it unlikely that Santa really went around in a sled pulled by flying reindeer.

"I mean how is that possible?" She asked in the back seat of my car, gesticulating from her five point car seat.