A writer confronts her daughter after she calls another girl “fat”:

“‘Excuse me,’ I said, struggling for calm, knowing I was nowhere in calm’s ZIP code. ‘What did you just say?’

“From the way her eyes widened, I knew that she knew she’d done what her sister, four-year-old Phoebe, called a Big Bad. ‘She is fat,’ Lucy mumbled into her bowl.

“‘We are going upstairs,’ I said, my voice cold, my throat tight. ‘We are going to discuss this.’ And up we went, my blithe, honey-blonde daughter, leggy as a colt in cotton shorts and a gray T-shirt with Snoopy on the front, and her size-16-on-a-good-day mom.