Some days, I think maybe I want her to go to a regular school. Other days, like today, I don't want her in school until she's in college. Our cultural treatment of adolescent males coupled with ease of weapons accessibility is going to continue to combust into mass shootings until gun reform happens. That might not ever happen.
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From the time Iris could hold her diaper, we asked her to carry it while we walked her over to the trash for her to drop it in. “Trash” was one of her first words. “Trashpit” was one of her first nicknames. She turned two in May, and she now sits next to me while I sew and cuts up paper and fabric with metal scissors. She pins fabric while sitting at my desk. I found her at my desk last week with my rotary cutter. First, I took it away and handed her her own scissors, and instead of exploding over the shredded mess on my desk, I asked, “What are you doing in here,” to which she said, “I working, mama”.
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