A five-to-ten-minute conversation becomes a story worth keeping.

Lily became a real swimmer on Wednesday -- her words, not ours. After months of gripping her nose with both hands every time her head went under, she finally let go. Her swim teacher talked her into it, and when she surfaced, she shouted "I'M A REAL SWIMMER NOW" loudly enough for the entire pool deck to hear. Then she did it twelve more times in a row, ignoring her teacher's attempts to move on to backstroke, because some milestones deserve a victory lap.

The school play news was harder. The first grade is putting on The Wizard of Oz, and Lily had spent two weeks rehearsing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" in front of the bathroom mirror. She wanted Dorothy. She got a tree -- not a talking tree, just a tree. The disappointment lasted about forty-five minutes, which, for a six-year-old, is the emotional equivalent of a long weekend. Then she pivoted. She decided she would be the greatest tree in the history of elementary school theater. Every evening now, she performs for her parents in the living room: swaying slowly, whispering leaf-rustling sounds, and occasionally dropping a hand-cut construction paper leaf with enormous dramatic gravity. She is not kidding around.

And then there was the tooth. It came out Thursday, mid-apple, and Lily sprang into action with the efficiency of someone who has been through this before. Ziploc bag. Note to the tooth fairy. The note read: "Dear Tooth Fairy, this is my third tooth. I would like cash not coins please. Thank you, Lily." She included a diagram of the tooth with a labeled arrow, in case there was any confusion. The tooth fairy, duly impressed, left a five-dollar bill and a note that said "Well negotiated." Lily observed that the tooth fairy has good handwriting "for someone who works at night."

She told her mom yesterday that first grade is "way harder than she expected but she's handling it." Matter-of-fact. No drama. She said it the way someone might describe managing a large but ultimately rewarding project. She is six years old, and she is handling it.