Saturday, January 27, 2007

A long week.

At home, where you love to be.

This week you started your longer days at school. I think it was harder on me than you, but your feelings about being away from us -- from home -- were evident in your behavior.

In the evenings, you were cranky to the point of complete meltdown. One night, you were inconsolable because dad wouldn't play Candyland with you during dinner preparations. After school on the first long day, you lost it in the grocery store because you couldn't call everything in the store "yours" with a shriek. We could barely carry you back to the car, and then you wouldn't sit in your carseat.

I picked you up late on Thursday and found you finishing snack. You looked comfortable, but tired in your little chair. I could tell by your demeanor that you'd rather be home; maybe I was imagining it. You looked small and big at the same time, as if in my absence, I'd missed a growth spurt during those extra 5 hours.

There's a lump in my throat and I've already cried about it.

Last night we looked at your newborn pictures. This made me long for another baby, perhaps, but I think it's more a yearning for that newness, the unknown. Also, you rarely pose for the camera anymore (you'd rather be on the other side) so I am only capturing you in each moment. This isn't bad, I suppose.

Today, we had a nice, slow day. No agenda, really. We went to a coffee shop in the evening -- a place we haven't been with you, but a shop that we went to a lot when we were without a child. You sat between us on the sofa: dad was reading, you were eating cookies and I was knitting. When you were ready to go, you said, "I'm ready to go" and put your hat on.

And another long week is on the way.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007


You're busy; I'm busy. It's nice this way -- enjoying the last weeks we'll have hanging out together. Most of the day, you don't seem to need me. Right now you're scooping plastic letters up off of the tiled kitchen floor. It seems you have a plan of some sort, having emptied the bucket and retrieving a spoon from the drawer. You run around the house cradling your beloved football and basketball, speaking to them -- and about them -- as if they were...entities. They are Alive, much like a human or animal, but you also talk to them about the Big Decisions you need to make. "Football, shall I eat these cookies?" "I shouldn't pull the cat's tail, Football." I'll write more on your love of sports later.

So the real busy lingers, hovers like the clouds holding the yet-unseen snow that is threatening our city today. In a few weeks, you'll be in school and aftercare full time. I'll be in the classroom reeling from the new experience. I know you'll do wonderfully at school, and I'm looking forward to this last step in my education (at least for this degree), but there is a sadness for me. All along I've tagged myself as someone who couldn't stay at home full time. But as you've grown into our daily rituals, I've found such joy in the simplicity. Perhaps I am motivated by a desire to hang on to the "right now;" there is a palatable fear in stepping into teaching. It could also be that I actually enjoy being your iTunes d.j. and even negotiating difficult situations (although definitely less than our quiet times).

Our holiday time was wonderful -- you've really grown into a social being. After a family Christmas Eve party, you stated, in a voice heavy with sleep, "I want to go to another party." Although our celebrations during the Christmas holiday are not, for us, religious, we know you understand the deeper spiritual meanings in our family gatherings. Right now, your worldview includes the phrases "Everything changes" and "I want to be happy" and that is a nice place to start.