I wrote this about four years ago, when Nat was very small. I like it:
Early this morning, I heard a disturbance coming from the kid's room...panicky, tiny, breathless shrieks, thumping feet, the sounds of fighting...I raced to the door...
There was my three year old daughter, in mortal combat with a cloud of mutant, radioactive bees, twisting, turning, gasping, transfixed in the bars of morning light streaming through the spinning blades of her window fan...she was beset on all sides by glowing, supernatural, darting faeries, and she danced and fought like a warrior princess...well, at least until she fell on her ass and noticed me stifling hysterics in the doorway.
Well, those were some big-ass dust motes, I'm here to tell you. She kept a wary eye on those spinning dust devils as she edged around the light, towards me, and then fled down the stairs to regale her mother with tales of battle.
A Bronze Star, at the very least.