THAT Child...

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Jack pushed his best friend through a glass window the other day. There, I said it. And it could have been much worse...because the stairs were half a foot to the left. Every now and then I find I am the parent of THAT child and it is so embarrassing.

Now a few things that I know to be true about Jack; he is very intelligent and way handsome. He is kind, compassionate, patient and encourages those around him. He is empathetic to a fault, sometimes skiing away from us so he can check on that random guy who just fell over. Jack is the child who plays so inclusively I have to remind myself that he is four.

Crime Scene

But he IS four. And sometimes he looses his shit.

On this night, loosing a game of Mario Party proved too much, and he pushed the boy who won. Unfortunately they were on a pull out bed in our television room which sent his best friend flying (thank the lord above that it was not down the flight of stairs) off the bed and through the 75-year-old-original-to-the-house-glass-door.

First things first. He should NOT have pushed his bestie. Obvious. But why, when he loose his cool so rarely, does everything seem to conspire to make the event soooo epic?! I mean when Jack gets pushed, or bitten, or some brat pulls his hair I seem to be the only witness and life goes on. But when Jack pushes his friend it happens to be the day we let them play on the pull-out (usually they sit on the green table above), sending said friend off into the air, AND through a GLASS DOOR!!!!! What the what?! Seriously?!

When Gramma asked Jack why he had done it he answered through tears, "I just don't know what happened...I never do stuff like that.". Jack has apologized, and all has been forgiven. He does not really grasp what could have happened (killing your bff is a pretty heavy concept) but he is paying for the glass with money from his piggybank. THAT has made a huge impact with him.

And my girlfriend still lets her baby play with mine. So there's that. Oh, and the Wii has been moved back to the playroom.

Dummy Fairy - Part 2

The Dummy Fairy that I had been telling you about last week arrived a few days ago. There had been a couple late nights in a row so I actually asked Isla one evening (we had been prepping her all day) if she wanted the Fairy to come that night. Exhausted, she shook her little piggy-tailed head no. Fine. Tomorrow then.

In the morning I spoke with her about how the Dummy Fairy knew she was tired and hadn't come out of respect, however there were babies waiting in need of a new Dummy. Isla decided the time was now - with one condition. She did want the Dummy Fairy to come and bring her her prezzies, however Isla also wanted for the Dummy itself to be left so she could pick the baby who needed it most. I agreed to relay the message, not fully knowing if it was the right decision or not.

The Dummy Fairy arrived around nap time. There was much excitement over the gifts, we read the letter the Fairy left congratulating Isla on her BIG GIRL decision, and showed her where her the baby's dummy was left so she could give it away to whomever she chose.

It was then Isla revealed to me more of what is inside her big sweet heart. She picked a two year old boy here in town (who I was sure did not use a Dummy nor had he ever). I bit my tongue and played along.

Then the wheels began to turn for me. This boy is younger than Isla, and we do refer to him as a "baby". Mostly, "leave him be/let him have the toy/stop bugging him, etc...he is just a baby!". Isla has never seen him with a Dummy, so he obviously is in need of one. There is more. This little boy whom Isla chose is in the tumultuous throes of receiving a new sibling, and moving house, and just being two. Because the Dummy is was her comfort, and now amidst all this upheaval it would be his as well. Her decision was so magnanimous, and gracious, and empathetic I am astounded. Wise in a way I never could have been in that moment, but am willing to learn. I am so proud.

Honestly?!

There is nothing more moving than the glaring honesty of a child. It is not filtered, or manicured, manufactured or checked. It is akin to verbal diarrhea. The brain sends an impulse and the mouth lays it out for all to hear.

A few years ago I was in the grocery store with Jack. When we got to the till I confess I let some air escape, from my behind. The store was very busy (read loud) and in my defence I was probably pregnant. Anyhoo, no one heard. Except for an arse high Jack. With his new found language skills he declared, "Mommy fart. Mommy fart." to the cashier/anyone within earshot, over and over with increasing persistence as I attempted to ignore him and get the heck out of there. Awesome.

When one of my children says to another, "you talk funny" or refers to the neighbour as "the grumpy man who lives next door" I am mortified more often than not. Sometimes it is hard to remember they are not judging, but stating what they perceive to be fact, and I receive the comment coloured by my own experience and/or embarrassment. They are not saying these things to be mean. The neighbour next door looks like a grumpy character from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, but also like Santa, so I was able to suggest as much - and as everyone knows Santa is never grumpy. I told them stories about when they mispronounced words because they too were little once and learning. Yet, despite knowing this, it still stings when a two year old makes a comment about my spotty face.

We bring them books, teach them songs, play stacking and sorting games all geared towards differentiation and separation and then we are shocked when they bring their astute observations into the real world. Because you cannot un-ring a bell, and words can hurt, especially when they come out of an innocent face. But we are all different. My children adore being told they are special and unique, so I need to seize the opportunity when they notice that others are different from themselves. To help them acknowledge and appreciate the difference rather than fear and judge. If I wait until they are in the schoolyard it will be too late. Again I am reminded of the steep learning curve that is teaching empathy without loosing individuality.

All this being said, I could have a million dinner guests singing glowing praise for my fare, but it will never mean as much as when Jack starts in about how amazing my cooking is because he is incapable of insincerity.  This morning as I was pulling my hair back, Isla announced as if she could no longer contain herself, "Mommy, you are soooooo beautiful!".  I have never ben more flattered.