The Peanut believes in Fairies. Hard. In fact the Peanut believes that she is a fairy. Possibly their erstwhile ruler banished long ago because of some horrible bureaucratic oversight. This belief was implanted by her mother, the Aunties in Maine, and me. There have been fairy houses built from shoe boxes and birch bark and love (you need a glue gun for the love part) hidden in dappled glens in the nearby Maine woods. Gifts left and found and reciprocated at sacred stumps in the light of a full moon. Notes written in the strange language of the Fae folk. Use of the phrase "Fae folk." We really go overboard. We encourage this belief in part because she is so tiny, so mercurial, so ethereal in her way that not only is it appropriate, we hope it's good for a little confidence too. Maybe it'll give her a bulwark against always being the smallest. "I may be the smallest kid in class but eventually I'll be able fuck your shit up magic style, so it's all good." Or something to that effect.
Eventually because the deal is, she's not a fairy yet. She's got fairy blood sure, but to become an actual fairy takes years of training. Years of studying things like wood craft and fishing, reading and writing, math and science, wild edibles, swimming, and flying. It takes eating your fruits and vegetables and being nice to your brother. It takes being kind to animals. It takes a lot of manipulative parental bullshit.
But she believes now. She'll often tell you she can, "fly for one second" before jumping in to the air and flapping her arms like a hummingbird. She'll ask you to touch her ears sometimes and then ask if you can "feel how they're getting pointier." Joke's on her when she graduates from college with a Forestry degree and an entire wardrobe of bedazzled camouflage only to realizes the only magic power she has is the ability to apply for a job at Starbucks.
Teased? Apathetic? Hungry? Read more at Dadcentric!