spynotes ::
  June 07, 2006
Silence is golden (but diamonds are forever)

Yesterday AJ came home from summer camp with a painting of a slew of yellow ducks. Mysteriously, however, he was covered in blue paint from his ankles to his nose. Today he brought home another duck painting -- this time the duck was floating on a deep sea of blue fingerpaint. Mystery solved. I do sometimes feel like I�m piecing together AJ�s day from circumstantial evidence. He can be remarkably information free, at least until you try to get him to go to sleep, at which point he can�t stop talking.

I love him dearly, and I really do want to know what he has to say, but sometimes I just long for some silence. Today I had to literally bite my tongue to keep from shushing him � because no one, even someone turning on all nap-avoidance techniques, deserves that kind of rudeness. Fortunately there are the woods and the river not far away. The wild roses are blooming now, and I get intense heady whiffs of them as I pedal home from the pool, breathing hard.

After AJ�s lunch, we went out for ice cream and then came home to play in the sprinkler � it has heated up again here. There really is very little that beats watching AJ run through the sprinkle. He giggles like a maniac. He took a nasty skid in the grass this afternoon, nearly landing on his head. He looked stunned for a minute, froze in place, then rolled over on his back, wiggled his arms and legs in the air like a dying bug, and giggled some more.

But at naptime, the endless stream of conversation began. About whether or not he NEEDED to sit on the potty, about the books he read this morning, about The Girl Next Door, about T-ball and the detailed rules and regulations thereof, about the pool, about the sprinkler, about all the flavors of ice cream he likes. I could tell my exasperation was showing by the third interruption of his bedtime story when he started raising his hand. I put the book down and tried to start a conversation. �So what did you do at camp today?� �I don�t know. Did you know that in T-ball there are no strikes? You can keep trying to hit it until you do and then you RUN to first base. Do you think I could hit the ball as high as the moon?�

Even now, when he is supposed to be sleeping, I can hear him in his bedroom, making that clicking noise with his tongue that signifies the crack of the bat. He�s playing invisible baseball again. And, of course, delivering a running commentary: "It's a fly ball, it's...it's out of the park. Home run!"

3 people said it like they meant it

 
:: last :: next :: random :: newest :: archives ::
:: :: profile :: notes :: g-book :: email ::
::rings/links :: 100 things :: design :: host ::

(c) 2003-2007 harri3tspy

<< chicago blogs >>