Today, as I put on my running shoes, I noticed that one of my socks had a face and some stripes drawn on it. In Sharpie. A reclaimed sock puppet, apparently. These moments are frequent. Lucy thinks everything in this house — be it a sock, a medical bill, my work notebook — is just material for her art. The other day she put together a car/"speeder bike" using a security dowel from one of our windows, an Ikea stool and many, many Band-aids. I cannot argue with her ingenuity. But after a cooking injury last week, I did have to bandage myself with Scotch tape and some random gauze I found (given to us to treat Milo's circumcision scar?), because we had no Band-aids. Someone is going to suffer for her art.