Dear God, Not Already

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And so it has started.  My six year old is in love, or at least her version of love, which bears some resemblance to the real thing (botched attempts to express oneself, reading signals wrong, general lunacy).  The evidence as follows:

Exhibit A:  This notebook found in the living room.  The notebook, bought from a Japanese stationary store appropriately reads:  “Fickle Note Book.” Note the title of the tome, a memoir if you will:  “The Love of My Life” and underneath that, the author’s name:  Hazel.

Exhibit A: The Memoir; The Love of My Life

The plot and characters are a bit sketchy, but the theme is clear.  The sole page with writing on it reads: “Wile my clas wer woching a moove he poot his arm around me.”  On the next page, the conclusion:  “at school a boy has a krosh on me.”  On both pages is written the word love, in random places.   This boy, unnamed on the page, probably has no idea that with this one move (his arm draped around her tiny shoulders) he has made himself the love of my daughter’s life.  That would be her WHOLE life.  She’s six.

Inside said memoir: "He poot his arm around me."

Exhibit B:  Scrawled on her bunkbed is this declaration:  “I Love Sheldon.”  It’s as if, bursting with the need to tell someone, she turned to graffiti to express herself.  She obviously couldn’t tell me (who tells their mother these things after all) and she may have sensed Sheldon would be alarmed by so much ardor, so she told the one person she could tell:  her bunkbed.

Exhibit B: Graffiti.

Exhibit C:  The Secrets Book.  Now I haven’t been able to bust into this thing, which is shocking given the flimsy looking lock, but I have seen her writing in it.  (Before you scold me for my attempts to invade her privacy, let me remind you, she’s six.) In any case, I’m fairly sure it outlines the rest of her life with Sheldon.  I mean since she’s already found the love of her life, she might as well get to planning.

Exhibit C: The Secrets Book. Full of...well, secrets.

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