Yesterday we went to an end-of-the-year celebration at the principal’s house. It was a fun party. At one point, Coco had to use the bathroom and needed me to go with her. Once we got the door closed I said, “I wish there were some sweets at this party.”

“You know what I wish?” Coco asked.

“What?”

“I wish the world was made of marshmellows.”

Earlier in the day, in the 5th grade, Coco was like a celebrity. The children are batty for her. Kids in other classes even knew who she was, mostly because I had passed on advice from her the night before as part of my speech at graduation. Graducation includes “yearbooks” and they hold an ice cream social so that students can sign one anothers books. Well, kid after kid asked Coco to sign!

In the end, I think she signed more books than I did.

When I was rushing to change what appeared to be a somewhat violent TV program the other day, Coco casually let me know that she preferred that kind TV. She was not happy I was going to change it.

Taking a brief break from her thumb sucking she said, “I love guns. I love fire. I love lava. I love a lot of stuff.”

As early as five, your child can make you feel behind the times.

Over the holiday break, Coco’s older brother and sister were here. They slept in the living room because there was no other place for them to be. The first night, Coco snuck downstairs to sleep with them. The second night she wanted to do this, I told her no. This was her response:

“You know what I’m not listening to? I’m sleeping with Sinéad and Tristan and I’m not listening to no; I’m listening to yes.”

Coco was carrying her umbrella around over the weekend, pretending she was Mary Poppins. She told Larry and me that we were the children. Playing along, I asked her to hold my hand.

Then, as we were getting into the car to go somewhere, she asked, in all seriousness, “why is one of the children going to drive?”

They tell us “autumn’s a-comin’,
And soon everything around us will die,
Only a fool believes that he is
Different from the birds in the sky.

All those birds go chasin’
Some better, sunny days,
You can’t hear them singing
Cause they’ve all gone away.”

But this one bird didn’t leave you
It stayed through the wintertime
You can’t hear it sing
But you can hear it as it flies

So don’t you believe them
They’ll destroy you with their lies
They only see the obvious
They see the sun go down but they don’t see it rise

This one bird didn’t leave you
You can hear it as it flies
It’s not very loud
But you can hear it if you try

So don’t you believe them
Yes, it’s true, someday everything dies
We won’t let that defeat us
We can’t hear him sing but we can hear it as it flies

Minky just read me a bookmark. It said, “Sunday of your slimy pop.”

Coco got some fabulous things for Christmas but strangely the thing she likes best of all is her Mr Potatohead. Mr Potatohead was purchased for her by her older siblings at Disney World. He’s got all sorts of theme park gear like a Mickey Mouse sorcerer’s hat and an ice cream in the shape of Mickey with a bite taken out of it. From the moment he was opened, it was love.

I myself have never understood the charm of the Mr Potatohead. As a kid I thought it was weird. As a parent I think it’s weird.

Layr, a much more accepting and nonjudgmental person, made Coco really laugh once when he took Mr Potatohead’s ear off and put it on top of his head, replacing his hat. She thought that was hysterical.

Mr Potatohead sits on a shelf in Coco’s room, adjacent to her crib. Each morning when I go into her she scampers right up and looks quite glad to see me for a brief moment. Then she points her little fat finger at the Mr Potatohead and says “dah?” Together we walk to the shelf to say good morning. She smiles like crazy at him, reaches out both arms, pulls him off the shelf and hugs him tight. (I have yet to receive one of these bear hugs.) Then the three of us all head into my bedroom where the changing table is.

Last night Layr went in to get the girl just before eleven for one last nurse. That is part of our nightly routine, the hope being that this last feeding will prevent dead-of-night wakefulness. It’s not always successful. Anyway, I heard him chuckling in there. When he came back into our bedroom he explained that when he picked Coco up, she was half asleep and a bit disoriented, but she pointed her finger at Mr Potatohead, and said, “dah?”