Scarlett starts first grade tomorrow. I’m very excited for her, even though the only thing I remember about my own first grade experience is when my friend Beth and I made circles of glue on our desks and decided we would sell our tiny treasures for five cents each. We saw ourselves as entrepreneurs, but our get-rich-quick scheme was foiled when it turned out there was no market for dried discs of Elmers. Other things must have happened in first grade, but that’s literally all I’ve got.

I haven’t felt much like writing; there seem to be so many other things going on, and I’ve spent the last two days of summer vacation with Scarlett, sometimes arguing, sometimes exploring, sometimes just me watching her. I know she looks older, because other people keep saying so, but I don’t really see it myself. It’s sort of how I think I still look the same, even though I’m technically aware that I’ve changed significantly as a result of ALS. My daughter is taller. I’m growing gaunt, the bones under my skin jutting out like poorly concealed weapons. In my mind, though, we are both pink cheeked and strong. Read More>