recent observations.

eyeshadow, bone fractures, manhattan mansions.

My kid says drawstring shorts make them carsick and I say that’s impossible.

Until I tie a pair of pants around my waist and feel queasy from a waist too cinched.

Sticks and stones break bones and so do soccer balls pelted at short range.

A hand flies up to protect a cheek and a tiny radius fractures.

A bike pedal can split a knee wide open.

Paint starts peeling on a tin ceiling.

Only girls wear makeup because they need to look like princesses, says the tiny make-up artist painting my child’s eyelids blue.

A bearded drag queen dances around the track, rainbow eyeshadow arching above false eyelashes. Anyone can wear whatever they want.

One half of a pistachio shell can pry open a closed pistachio shell.

Twenty-four kids in two never-straight lines.

There’s a mansion for sale on 54th street.

Starry Night is behind glass, but you can still see the brush strokes.

Subways are good for napping.

Extra bandaids are never wrong.