Category: The Daughter Project
Mommies Are Not Alive
Her new nearly-florescent neon tennis shoes did little to distract him from feeling the sting of what she said next.
“Mommies are not alive,” she purported.
“Mommies are not alive? I don’t think that’s right H-,” he returned.
“They aren’t alive. Mommies are not alive,” she said.
“What is a mommy?” he asked, seeking context at the least.
“K- is my mommy,” she answered.
“Hmm. So you know K- is your mommy, and that she’s alive, but you still maintain that mommies are not alive?”
“Yep, they’re not,” she said.
“Well,” he took a breath, “I hate to break it to you kid, but mommies are very much alive. Your mommy is alive. My mommy is alive. They’re alive,” he lectured dryly.
“Mommies are not alive,” she continued, a perfect stubbornness showing through. “Skeletons aren’t alive either.”
“Skeletons, eh?” he said. “Oh! I get it. Not mommies, mummies! Muh-muh mummies are not alive. You’re trying to say that dead bodies wrapped in tape are not alive, right? They’re called mummies, muh-meez, not mah-meez.”
“Yeah,” she said, her eyes betraying her brain’s increase in activity. “Bodies wrapped in,” she paused, “in tape,” she finished, her nodding head and squinting eyes calling out his inaccuracy. “Mommies-”
“Muh H-,” he corrected, “muh-meez. Mummies are not alive.”
“Mah-”
“Muh-”
‘Mah-”
“Muh-meez H-,” he said, feeling his patience about to buckle. “Forget it. Can you say reanimated?”
“Re-ami-nated?” she asked.
“Re-ani-mated,” he repeated.
“Reanimated,” she said.
“Good. Now say ‘mummies are reanimated, but mommies are alive.'”
“Mommies are reanimated, but mommies are alive.”
“Perfect.”
Mac ‘n’ Cheese’s Home Date
“How’s your mac’n’cheese H-?”
“It’s far away,” she responded matter of factly.
“Huh? How’s your mac’n’cheese?”
“It’s far away. It’s in Townsville,” she said, finally elaborating.
“Wait what?” he asked, shaking his head. More curious than ever to discover where this would lead he again asked, “How’s your mac’n’cheese?”
“I told you daddy. It’s far away. It’s in Townsville. On May 10th. That’s my birthday,” she said, nodding her head while staring at the dish. Searching eyes exposed her thoughts more than words ever could. “How can I be more clear? I think I’m being clear,” she thought.
“Your mac’n’cheese is far away, in Townsville, which is on May 10th?” he asked, attempting for clarification.
“Yep,” she answered, delighted by his demonstration of understanding.
“Oooookay then.”
High Class
“Do we have cauliflower?” she asked after he mentioned broccoli.
“Nope, just broccoli,” he answered.
“Why don’t we have cauliflower?” she persisted.
“Because I didn’t buy any,” he said, not giving in.
After finishing her broccoli, she watched as he slid the grilled chicken on to her plate. Together now, they began to eat.
“Oh,” he interrupted, “did you want barbecue sauce?”
“Yes,” she said, “the new sauce.”
“I know, I know. You didn’t like the hot stuff.”
“Hot stuff?”
“Nevermind. Here’s your sauce. And here’s my sauce.”
To the sound of silverware squishing into chicken, they returned to the task at hand. Suddenly, she let out a shriek.
“What?” he asked, fearful that even the new sauce was too hot.
Spitting out the chicken, she replied, “I don’t like the roasted ones. That one’s roasted.”
“Huh?”
“See daddy? Roasted,” she said, pointing at the grill marks on the chicken.
“Oh. You don’t like the burnt part. Excuse me, the roasted part. Okay, you don’t have to eat it,” he allowed. “High class H-, you’re high class,” he thought, pride swelling.
Sadness
The buzzer always startled him. This time was no different. Alone and lost in thought, he sat with his fingers resting lightly on the home row when it sounded.
“Shit that’s loud,” he cursed, hoping to keep his man card after the fright.
The words not coming, he decided to go ahead and do now what had to be done at some point or another. The hardwood floor reminded him that he had been standing all day; the carpet, that he needed to vacuum. Pulling open the dryer, he hoped no socks would fall into the below washer as he removed the ball of clothes.
Back in the living room, he pulled his work clothes out first. Once folded, he laid them on the couch. Looking into the hamper, he saw her clothes.
At first he chuckled, never ceasing to be amazed by the sight of how small they are. Then he laughed at the memory of how excited she gets when putting them on herself.
Hating that he was laughing at memories, he didn’t laugh again for a while.
The Small Things
“Can you turn off the car daddy?” she asked.
“Oh. Yes I can. Thanks for asking,” he responded. “Looking to get into the house, eh? Sorry, I just was enjoying the song. Here we go.”
Racing to the door, she called out her victory upon touching the glass. He proceeded towards her, fanning out the three keys necessary to enter the house.
“Daddy, can you turn on the light?”
“You can do it H-. You’ve done it for over a year now. Just reach for it.”
They each began to remove their jackets and begin their respective rituals. Stopping his, he realized he hadn’t hugged her yet today.
“H-,” he called, squatting down low, “what haven’t we done today?”
Only just a little, she bent her knees, unsure if mirroring him was necessary. Then it hit her.
“Hugged!”
Walking briskly towards him, her head mechanically assumed the cocked-right position as she opened her arms. They embraced. He stood, lifting her into the air. She let her legs hang.
Upon putting her down, she immediately beckoned, “Pick me up daddy!” He complied. This time, she was intent on staying and said so.
He hadn’t seen her for days, and wanted to be sure she knew the meaning of a hug. Taking a moment to get the lesson right in his head, that a hug is a way to say “I love you” without words, he was interrupted by her.
Pointing towards the counter, she said, “My phone!”
Stump The Dummy
She was off in her corner, by her dollhouse and playing some such game of make believe. He figured there was a monster involved. There was always a monster.
“Ahhhh! A monster!” she said, running to where he was in the kitchen. “A monster daddy! Help! Help Strawberry Shortcake and Lemon Meringue! Help daddy!”
“You know I’m cooking H-. Can I help later?” he asked her.
“Okay,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “Can I look? Can I see what you’re cooking?”
“Sure- watch it, watch it! You’ll knock the utensil off the counter if you’re not careful,” he warned.
“Me tensil?” she asked.
“No, utensil,” he replied.
“Me tensil?” she pressed harder.
“Yoo-tensil,” he answered in kind.
“Me tensil?” she said with uncommon determination.
“No. Yoo-ten,” he stopped.
“Yoo-,” he stopped again.
“Yoo-,” he was embarrased.
“The spoon.”
Victory at last.
You-Berry
“All right H-, tonight’s going to be a bit different. I’m going to cook you some broccoli, which you’ll eat here, then we’ll go to the restaurant.”
“Old Mcdonald’s?”
“No, I feel like a burrito, so no McDonald’s today.”
“What’s this daddy?”
“What’s what?”
“This?”
“Oh, yes, that came in the mail yesterday.”
“Can you open it, please?”
“Sure, just give me a second to start your broccoli. Okay, it’s open. Careful, careful! You don’t know if it’s breakable.”
“Can you open this card?”
“Sure. Here’s what it says, ‘What’s sweeter than a blueberry?…a you-berry! Happy Valentine’s day. Love, Grandma and Pops.'”
“It’s my Valentine’s Day?”
“Huh? Oh. No. Well…yes. I mean, that’s adorable.”
The Perfect Saturday Morning
“All aboard!” he yelled in his best train conductor voice. She loved riding on the front of the shopping cart as they made their way through the grocery store.
“All aboard!” she mimicked, smiling and grabbing hold. “Faster daddy!”
It was Wednesday night. They were buying enough supplies to last them for the coming week. Racing through the produce section, skipping past the deli on the right, and taking a hard left with a little too much speed, they made it to the back of the store in record time, narrowly avoiding a collision with the lobster tank.
“Let’s see. What do we need H-? I think we need lunch meat for my lunches, bread-”
“Milk, daddy? We need milk, right daddy?”
“That’s right, but that’s all the way on the other side. What else do we need before then?”
“Cereal? ”
“Yep, cereal,” he answered.
Passing the Pepsi shrine, he turned down the breakfast aisle. They were alone. With one big shove he jumped onto the back of the cart as they cruised towards the off-brand bags.
Beaming with joy, she could only ask, “What are you doing, daddy? What are you doing?”
“Oh, just having fun. Errrrrrt!” he sounded, halting prematurely at the sight of pancake mix. “I think we need pancake mix too.”
“Pancake mix?”
“Yep. What’s this? Look here H-. It says we can make 130 pancakes out of just this one bag. That’s a lot of pancakes, huh?”
“A lot of pancakes?”
“Yes, a lot of pancakes. Can you eat 130 pancakes?”
“No, that’s silly,” she said, laughing.
“Yeah, me neither. Do you believe this bag has enough mix to make 130 pancakes?”
“Pancakes?”
“What do you say we put Krusteaz to the test this weekend?”
“Test?”
“Your friends like pancakes right?”
“My friends?”
“Yeah, your friends. What do you say we invite all of them over for breakfast on Saturday, and see if we can really make 130 pancakes?”
Bright
He always chuckled to himself on the mornings that he forgot to turn on the lights. Freshly shaved, he’d come out of the bathroom and see her eating in the dark.
She always answered “good” when asked her state of being, no matter the level of light, and this morning was no different. After breakfast she began playing with her dolls in her normal talkative way.
“Okay. I’m just going to brush my teeth and we’ll be ready to go,” he explained.
“Okay,” she responded.
As he turned the water off and reached for the towel he noticed she wasn’t talking anymore.
“Hey. You okay? How come you’re not talking anymore?” he asked, walking by her, still gathering everything together.
“I don’t want to brush my teeth daddy,” she confessed.
“Well, well, well,” he laughed. “And you might have gotten out of it if you didn’t say anything. Think about that for next time. For now, let’s go brush your teeth.”
Amazing Girl-Child Lives Outside of Space and Time!
Her small size leads you to believe that you know all there is to know about her.
You are correct to discern that she cries a lot, talks a lot, can’t do math, can’t read, eats an incredible amount of food considering her weight, plays with toys, likes to be tucked in at night, asks to have her hand held if she’s not being carried, places a frightening level of trust in adults, and sometimes has accidents.
You’re also correct if you guess that she can’t carry on a conversation which furthers any agenda, she has a surprising stubbornness, her fantasy world is repetitious, and very few of her actions are original. It is easy to see why people like her have lost their appeal. They require attention. They need help. They listen; they believe; they mimic; they obey; they break; they depend on others; they spill their milk regularly.
What you might not notice is that she can’t tell time. That’s right. She doesn’t know what time is. Not just what time of day it is, but she doesn’t have an awareness of time. Can you remember what life was like before you knew what time was? Probably not. But maybe you can remember something about life before you used an alarm clock to remind you that your life was so important that you must stop resting. Being around her–being around them–is the closest thing any of us will get to living without time again.
Without time 40 lbs never felt so light; repetitious stories never sounded so good; cleaning up spills never required less energy; soothing cries never seemed so desirable. Without time raising a child never seemed so natural.
Captain’s Log 