Our daughter’s first daycare experience was at Little Peanuts, a local LLC in small-town Nebraska. Funny name, we thought. Apparently, they knew it too.

“Yeah, people get confused when they call,” the owner told us. “‘Little Peanuts,’ we say, then they say, ‘Excuse me?’” She waved her hand through the air describing this familiar tennis match. 

“Peanu-t-s!” they have to repeat.

Of course, precision isn’t just about enunciation. One of the youngest teachers—I don’t think she stayed on staff long—had a tendency of skating over things when she gave us the report at pickup time.

“How did today go?” I’d ask.

“Well, she was a little emotional today,” she’d say. What got me was the slow, knowing tone, her eyebrows stitched together. That nod, like it should just be obvious. You know, emotional.

“Oh, extra fussy today?” But it didn’t matter what I guessed. Emotional could mean anything: it was always shot in the dark. I’d often start with “fussy” because it was the word I would use if I wanted a nondescript gesture toward a report. A little extra, a little unhappy? Fussy it is! Extra vocal? Sure, fussy! There could be something there.

Emotional didn’t give me much to work with. Eventually I’d have to ask, “Well, what was she doing?” That would get me in the room, take me back to the scene, when my daughter became emotional. 

---

Writing prompt: Think of a topic you’d like to write about. Zoom in. Get in the room. Zero emotion words, only scene, more precise verbs, more specific nouns. Move in closer with every pass.

---