The Return of My Little Art Director


Daffodil: “Papa, draw me a picture.”

Me: “I’m pretty tired. How about I rest for a little bit and then draw you a picture?”

Daffodil: “Okay. You’re sick. I’m sick too, but I have lots of energy anyway.”

Me: “I’ve noticed.”

Daffodil (putting a baby blanket over me): “There. How’s that?”

Me: “That’s very nice, thank you.”

Daffodil makes up a song whose words I cannot understand and sings it.

Daffodil: “Did you like my song?”

Me: “Yes, that was beautiful.”

Daffodil: “It was very restful, wasn’t it?”

Me: ” ”

Daffodil: “Are you ready to draw my picture now?”

Me: “It would be nice to get a little more rest.”

Daffodil: “Do you need another blanket?”

Me: “No, that’s alright. One is fine.”

Daffodil puts another baby blanket on me.

Me: “Thank you. That’s enough. Just let me rest for a few minutes.”

Daffodil climbs over me onto the bed, kneeing me in the gut.

Daffodil: “I’ll rest with you.” She curls up beside me, holding my arm.

Daffodil: “It’s a picture of a Princess.”

Me (sighing): “What is the Princess doing?”

Daffodil: “I don’t know. You decide.”

Me: “Okay. After I rest.”

Daffodil: “Are you ready to draw my picture yet?”
Me: “Pretty soon. Let’s just have a bit of quiet time.”

Daffodil (whispering in my ear): “Okay. Are you ready to draw my picture yet?”

Me: “Does it matter? Okay, get off my arm, I’ll get up and draw your picture.”

I sit down at the table and start to draw.

Daffodil (looking over my shoulder): “What is that? That doesn’t look like a Princess.”

Me: “Just wait a minute.”

Daffodil: “Is it a dog? It doesn’t look like a dog. Oh, it has scales.”

Me: “Yes. It’s a dragon.”

Daffodil: “It looks like a cow.”

Me: “It’s a cow-dragon. They’re very fierce.”
Daffodil: “It’s supposed to be a Princess, remember?”

Me: “Just wait a minute.”

Daffodil: “Oh, she’s sitting on the cow-dragon. The cow-dragon is a girl, right?”

Me: “If you say so.”

Daffodil: “She’s a girl. And the Princess is sitting on her. Is that me?”

Me: “Yeth.”

Art direction010


Princess Daffodil

Princess Daffodil

Daffodil is ill: a deep, wet cough and a low fever. She is, nevertheless, in good spirits and had a quiet yester-e’en of tv-watching, kindle-playing and dog-hugging. She dined daintily on two bites of pickle, three potato chips and a gold chocolate coin hanging about since Yule.

Daffodil: “Papa, why does my Magination follow me everywhere?”

Me: “Well, it’s your Magination, not anyone else’s. It wouldn’t be right for it to follow other people around.”

Daffodil: “Yeah. It follows me around and it just pops up! Pop! There it is!”

Daffodil: “Sometimes I tell it to stay home, but it doesn’t listen. My Magination does what it wants.”

When it came time to prepare her for the night’s repose, we had the following conversation:

Me: “How does your tummy feel?”

Daffodil: “Okay…”

Me: “Do you feel like throwing up at all?”

Daffodil: “No, not any more.”

Me: “Alright. If you think you might puke during the night, it would be nice to have your hair back, but if not, we should probably take your ponytail out.”

Daffodil: “No, leave it in. I like looking like a Princess.”

Me: “I don’t think it matters so much when you’re asleep. It’s dark, and nobody is looking at you.”

Daffodil: (patting the bed next to her) “My Magination never sleeps.”