The little girl with wild curly Qs sprouting around her pixie ears, studies her mommy from the kitchen table, swinging her legs to the soundtrack of her two-year old mind. It goes something like this: Doo, da, da, Dee, Doo, da,da, Dee.
Mommy looks different today, she thinks. No, it wasn’t that she was taller and it wasn’t that she got smaller, but mommy was certainly different.
She’d been told over and over that Mommy is “sick,” that Mommy’s medicine makes her tired, that she needs to be a good girl for Mommy, but no one told her this. How come? Why not?
The little girl strokes her curly Qs, pulling on one before letting it spring back into place. Wonder why mommy did that, she thinks. It looks kinda funny. Looks like Pap’s. Looks like my babies’. Wonder why.
She watches as Mommy makes her way to the bedroom and follows.
Mommy pulls a shirt or two from the dresser, playing dress up. The little girl watches. Mommy is good at dress up. Mommy has nice dress up clothes.
Before long Mommy and the little girl are joined by Drouchy, the dog. “Hi, Drouchy.” She jumps up on the bed. “Ugh, move over, Drouchy!” The little girl fights for space, deciding to use Drouchy to her advantage; as a head rest.
Which baby should I take to school, she ponders, while popping another Goldfish in her mouth. Will I see Gigi today? Maybe Grammy. Why does Drouchy do that? Eww.
Now Mommy has work and the little girl will go to school. Mommy bundles her up and asks, “Which hat?” The little girl crinkles her nose as Mommy pulls the green sparkle one over her head.
“Sparkles.” “You want your sparkle hat too?” She nods and off they go.
On the way to school the little girl thinks of everything she loves starting with Mommy and Daddy, Gigi, Grammy, her Pappies, Goldfish, Babies, Playdough, and swimming.
She looks out of the window and wonders where the leaves went. Wonders if the trees are cold. She waves to the cows with their butts showing and wonders why they don’t wear pants.
At school the little girl plays with the other little kids. They play with babies, toys, and crayons. The little girl bounces about all day discovering answers to all of her questions, making friends, within minutes losing them, and making them again. The little girl with the curly Qs thinks of nothing but play all day.
But at 5:00 the little girl remembers her first question of the day. She sees Chloe’s Mommy, and Sarah’s Mommy, and Ryan’s Mommy.
At home the little girl lies on the bed with Mommy and Daddy. She rubs Mommy’s head. “It’s a wittle scwatchy. Why you cut your hair?” “Remember, Mommy’s medicine makes it fall out.” She rubs Mommy’s head again and after her dozens of questions and hypotheses, the little girl with the curly Qs comes to one conclusion; “It’s crazy,” she says with a shrug.
The little girl lies her head against Mommy’s, the prickles tickling her ears. She snuggles against Daddy and let’s out a soft sigh, thinking how Chloe and Sarah don’t have sparkle hats like Mommy’s.