Friday, December 16, 2011

The Newest Trick

First, prepare yourself.
John-John has pinkeye.  Which means that he couldn't go to school today.  Today was my only Christmas shopping day.  He planned this.

So I was all anxious this morning about how the day would go.  If you know me, and you know John, you know that we tend not to be the best of companions on outtings.  Or at home.  And lately, just in general.


Next, launch yourself.
This is hard.  On the one hand, I want to embrace his wildness.  I want to sit with it and be curious about it, and not judge. 

Then, use your arms to propel you higher.

On the other hand, I want to tame it, calm it, make it be seen, and not heard.

Now, revel.
So I thought that today might be a challenge, and thus I started it out at Radnor Lake State Natural Area, where I ran his butt into the ground hiking up the highest ridge in Nashville. 

Land.

He was undaunted, of course.

And gloat.
And then I -- get ready -- took. him. shopping. with. me.

Applause please.

Nobody yelled, nobody punched, nobody rolled their eyes.  It was a lovely, wonderful day spent with this boy who, at times, makes me want to get in the car and drive any direction AWAY.  Just to get quiet and peace and not be tackled while I eat oatmeal & flax seeds.  With Trader Joe's fruit and nut mix.  (Fabulous, btw.)

In fact, at approximately 12:14 p.m., while at a Books-a-Million in a strip mall, the 7yo in question looked up at me and said, "Mom!  Look at us!  We're getting along!" 

This heartened me, though it may seem sad to you that a small child has to notice such things. 

You see, while on our walk at Radnor, we talked about how we are so different.  And how that is at times good and at other times bad, depending.  I started out with examples:  You're really energetic; I'm kinda lethargic.  You're loud; I'm quiet.  You're young; I'm not that young. Et cetera.  And then he started to join in:  You're a teacher, I'm a student.  You're married; I'm not.  You're tall; I'm not tall yet.  Etc.  It was fun, actually, until it morphed into this weird critique of my body parts, which, c'mon, please, no:  Your butt is big; mine is really tiny.

And then I said this, which I think may have been equivalent to the removal of the pea from underneath the princess's umpteen mattresses:  You are silly; I am serious.  And that is great because sometimes I need to be more silly.  And sometimes you need to be more serious.  (Like when we were with the pediatrician yesterday getting diagnosed with pinkeye, and you were saying your name was Jonerthoniabuttmouth, and I was gouging out my eyes.)

It seemed that this really clicked with him.  He suddenly understood that opposites can attract or repel each other.  He recognized that we are like batteries:  If you lay us together the wrong way, nothing will work.

And just now, as I left him in bed, he said this:  Hey mom!  Listen to this song I made up --

You better watch out!
You better not make repetitive noises!
You better not cry,
I'm telling you why.
Mom is watching out for people
Who are screaming.

My special earplugs are being delivered this weekend.  I paid $10 to have them 2nd day aired.

The End.



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