Isabella joined me last night as we went to pick up our van—an adventure for the two of us. We sat in the car and talked about her day at camp, about her cousins, about her friends. And then this little voice from the back said, “Can I control the music this time?”

Please I cannot listen to any more One Direction make it stop my ears are bleeding.

“I guess?”

“Okay. First I would like to hear Do You Hear The People Sing? and then I would like to hear Free To Be You And Me. But on one condition, Mama. You are not allowed to sing. Only I am. But I am allowed to sing as loudly as I want, at the top of my lungs, even.”

And then I thought that there was no way that this kid could get any more awesome.

And then she proved me wrong.

This is currently lying on the floor in her room, her outfit for tomorrow.

The fan that was buttoned into the left side of her dress is because “it can get pretty hot in the jungle, you know.”

The map that was ever-so-carefully buttoned into on the right side of her khaki dress contains information about several different animals—snakes, koalas, iguanas, tapirs, poison dart frogs, CAPYBARAS (you know, Mama, they are the world’s largest rodents!) I know that’s what’s under there because I watched her research her new obsession, Bindi Irwin. I watched her color her own photos, and print some up on the computer.

In fact, if you look at what she has taped to her dress, she is no longer Isabella. She is ISABELLA THE JUNGLE GIRL.

I cannot even. 

She’s singing her kind of music, my wonderful soon-to-be second grader.

At the top of her lungs, even.