“Do you have a tissue?” Lilah asks from the stroller as we walk from the elementary school to the preschool.
“I’m sorry, I don’t,” I reply. “Here.” I wipe her nose on my mitten, as we parents do sometimes.
“You know, you should carry a little tissue.”
“Yes, I know. I’m an imperfect mother.” Especially this morning, I think to myself.
She contemplates that for a moment, then asks, “What does ‘im-‘ mean?”
“It means ‘not.’ Like, ‘imperfect’ means ‘not perfect.’ And ‘impossible’ means ‘not possible.’ And ‘imbalanced’ means ‘not balanced.’”
Again, she contemplates, then replies, “Oh. I’m imbalanced.”
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And now I want to sit and think of more im- words. It sounds much gentler than “not,” I think. Impermanent.
I thought of that one, but then I didn’t want to have to define “permanent.”
I think my children would best understand “impatient!”
“Improper” and “impotent” where what came to mind, followed by “immaculate” and “immediate”. Somehow, defining “proper, potent, maculate and mediate” alongside their relative counterparts does not sound like an easy task.
You see why I avoided those!