The scene: Bedtime routine with KK, age 8
KK: We read a book in school about Mrs. Tizzy. I can't tell you about it.
Me: Why? Is it sad?
KK: Yes. It's about an old woman.
Me: Why is it sad? Did all of her children leave her?
KK: Not exactly.
Me: Don't tell me. I'll probably cry. Did your teacher cry when she read it?
KK: No. . . And then she proceeded to tell me the entire story. . .about an old woman who entertained the neighborhood kids each week. She was so much fun and everyone loved her. Then she got sick. The doctor came out of the house and shook his head seriously. . .
Me: (sigh. tears seeping out of my eyes)
KK: And the last page is a picture of just her hat. But all the kids did the special things without her, in her memory.
Me: (brushing away a few tears) I told you not to tell me! Mommy can't handle these kinds of stories!
KK: I know, Mamma. You shouldn't read this book.
Me: 😳
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