Friends again

Despite the lessons learned a few posts ago, J and E got off to another rough start this morning. E was in a temperamental mood and J lost her temper. Funny expression that. It seems more accurate to say she found her temper, or rather it came flying in the room and smacked her in the face.

They made up, of course, as they always do. But, as E put it, it takes some time to be friends again once you get angry. So true, my little man.

J took these words with her after Grandma & Grandpa took E on an adventure to a place called Tumblebums, where the bums are in constant tumble. J thought about the time one needs to let things settle. She then surprised herself by sitting down at the computer, intending to write, and found herself reactivating her facebook profile. Those of you reading this blog will know that J has a tempestuous relationship with facebook. Actually, it's less like a tempest and more like a tub that she keeps filling and draining. The truth of the matter is that J is prone to periods of lonely introspection and facebook, rather than make her feel like she's part of the party as Zuckerberg had intended, tends to exacerbate the feeling of being outside looking in. She knows she is not alone in feeling this. But she was surprised to feel a sense of warmth when she purused the photos of friends that had been silently waiting for her. Warmth and an overwhelming sense of love and peace. Ah, there you are. Like the muppets at the end of Labyrinth waiting in the mirror for Sara to say, I need you all.

So J and facebook are friends once again. At least for now. We'll see how it goes. The blog will continue, as will the anecdotes about E's latest antics and the Js constant marvelling that they could be so lucky as to have him in their world. And on that note, here is the latest in cuteness:

After paying for two admissions to the pool, J and E head to the changeroom. E asks his daddy, "How come you call everyone Salot?"

"Salot?" asks J, perplexed.


"Yeah, when you gave that lady the money you said 'Thanks Salot'."

Ten things I know to be true

1. There is definitely a difference between little boys and little girls. There is also an equal difference between mommies and daddies, and yet somehow they come together when it matters.

2. Smiling is the only known cure for long faces.

3. When we're sick, we all need our mothers. This is especially true if you're a mother.

4. Hearing a little boy whisper "I love you" is by far the sweetest most heartswelling thing you can ever hope to hear. This is also espcially true if you're a mother.

5. You can't hold hands if you're making a fist.

6. Headaches are a good indication that you've been overthinking.

7. There is no distance between two people that tender words can't cover.

8. Facing a fear is the only way to prove to yourself that it can't hurt you.

9. Worrier can sound a lot more like warrior if you shift your head a little.

10. There is no bad time of day for a good cup of tea.

Letter to my son

Dearest E ~

What a morning we had, my little tumbler. You were all stretching arms and grabbing hands and racing legs. You took out the nightlight in the hall, your guide to the big bed in the darkness of morning. It snapped off at its base, the metal plugs twisted beyond recovery. You stole your mommy's hairgel and emptied the bottle in your playtent, styling the fur of Mr. Woflie the handpuppet and adding extra shine to the sofa cushions. You drove your pre-caffeinated parents to distraction, to the edge of despair, and all before 8am.

Why? We bellowed. What is it you want? Attention, you answered. But isn't that something we've taught you to say, assuming it's at the root of all your acting up? Now we can't be certain if that's what you're after or what you've been taught to answer when we ask you, what do you want from us? 

It's simple enough to see what you want, my sweet, brilliant, bounding boy. You want a runway, a playground, a secret nook. The sound of crashing behind you, the thrill of the snatch, the safety of the hiding place, the pleasure of squeezing until a clear puddle oozes out before your very eyes, the cold, slippery feel of it spreading on plastic, on fur. The power and wonder of it all.

And we ask why because we're really wishing you hadn't. We bellow at you because we're angry with ourselves for not having hidden or protected those items in the first place, to avoid the destruction and mess and ire and argh.

As we stumbled out of the house, boots and bags and spirits dragging, it occurred to me that my annoyance with the morning -- with myself, with you, with the familiar pattern of these scenes  -- was ricocheting between us, that every weary step I took away from you and toward the van was the equivalent of announcing how tired I am of your company. That I may as well tell you I didn't want you around.

I am so sorry for that. It is beyond careless. It is beyond the damage of a broken nightlight and a few slicked-up throw pillows. I can always buy more hairgel. What passes between us is far more precious. What you feel matters more to me than anything you can put your hands on.

I have so much to learn, my little man, and you will surely teach me more than I can ever hope to teach you.

Your loving mother,
J.

Heav-E Metal

We knew E was ahead of his years, more teenaged than toddler, but this video really brings home the wild child we Js are proud to call our own.

A is for Art

The Js recently went to an art show showcasing the works of local students. Most of the pieces were done by girls, prompting the Js to ponder the question of whether the visual arts were becoming a chick thing. Jury's still out. All of the work was amazing. Truly. Had it been on sale, the Js would have bought several, assuming they could afford it. Probably they couldn't. It was that good. 

Inspired, the Js brought art to their livingroom. A few birthday parties ago, they'd been given a roll of plastic, the kind that's meant to serve as a make-shift tablecloth for messy eaters. They rolled it from one end of their livingroom to the other, taping it here and there to make sure it stayed put. Then they invited E to take off his clothes. This was done gradually, with each item getting a good colourful splatter before it was shed. J squeezed finger-paint from convenient plastic bottles onto the plastic and E began to work his way from one end to the other, smearing, squirming, sliding and slipping. Superb fun. Check it out:

 

Of course, after all that, the bath was the only option. But the finger-paints came too and the art continued up the walls of the bath, around the lining of the tub, and always, everywhere, on E's little body canvas. So inspiring was the change brought about by all this playful art, that J decided she needed to recreate herself. A spontaneous trip to the salon saw her step out with a completely new look. What did J say? Wow. And E? You look like Aunty Linda. J chose to consider them both compliments.

But it couldn't last. The curls came back within a few days. Maybe it was because J wasn't willing to spend 2 1/2 hours on her hair every morning. Maybe it was because she doesn't own a straightener. Or maybe, just maybe, she actually really likes her hair in its natural, untamed state. You decide.