P spent the day at home today, just a little too tired for school on a hot, hot day. So I walked S to school and chatted. I was enjoying this as the conversations are usually more pleasant when it's just the 2 of us. His birthday is soon, so parties, guests, and the ages of his classmates are very much on his mind. I told him that one of his best friends was coming to his party. He said that that friend had forgotten to invite S to his own party a few months ago. He's said this before and I wasn't sure what to make of it. I asked if he was sure he'd had a party; did he know anyone else who'd been? Maybe he just had a birthday and no party? He couldn't think of anyone, but was sure there'd been a party, and elaborated by saying he hadn't been invited to any of this boy's parties.
Aha! I was glad to be able to contradict him; he had indeed been to this boy's previous birthday party when they were at kinder together. Alas, it was a difficult occasion for me (I did talk about it in this blog, must put in a link), but thought he'd be happy to hear he was mistaken. Silly me, imagine he trusted me that much. He insisted he was right, I tried to jog his memory, persisting, gently, I thought, because it would cheer him up, but instead ended up with him telling me, "you're a liar! You're a liar! YOU'RE A LIAR!".
Fast-forward to pick-up. As he came out I notice some kids carrying heavy boxes and realised the home orders for an icy-pole sold at the school canteen had been distributed. S had been very keen to get some, but he and P didn't want the same flavour, I didn't want to buy 2 enormous boxes of the things, didn't get my act together to find someone to share with ... I let it slide, and I hadn't told the boys that. He started to complain and I started to reply; at that moment another child's grandmother asked me a question and as I was replying to her, I felt the most almighty wallop on my backside that a nearly 6-year old is capable of delivering.
What a contrast with the intervening hours. I warned P that this was no day at home playing on the computer, I had lots to do, he'd have to come with me, without complaint! He promised that a long as he'd have access to my phone, he'd tow the line! We went shopping in the heat and then I kept an appointment for my back (where he got the phone as promised). As far as I'm concerned, we had a wonderful time. He got to operate the ATM, the parking ticket machine, the coins that unlock the shopping trolley, the car central locking, the icy drink fountain at the gym, he picked his own morning tea, and on the way home shared his truly measured thoughts about the possibility of life elsewhere in the universe. Then we watched a tv show together, and then I had to extract myself and do some tasks. It was delightfully relaxed; P and I had space to just interact with each other.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Sunday, December 9, 2012
How to explain the timing?
Primo is prone to blood noses, and they occur in the middle of the night as often as not. This has sometimes been very frightening for him, but I'm often impressed with his calmness. Since his father suffered similarly as a child, he is usually the front line for this kind of incident.
And so last night up they went to the bathroom to go through the ritual involving oddly twisted tissues, discussion of clots, monitoring blood going down the throat (which really causes P to lose it), and other details with which they are both very familiar. I listened sleepily from the bedroom in case things took a turned for the worse and I was required. Being only half-awake and slightly too far from the bathroom to hear the words, I monitored the timbre of the conversation.
Blow me down; in the middle of the night, leaning over the bathroom basin waiting for the blood to stop, Primo was alert, talkative, and most striking of all, his intonations were the most expressive that I've ever heard. For years I've listened to his rather monotonous mode of speaking (another source of non-finite grief that occurs in relation to the lack of facial and vocal expression -- perhaps I'll elaborate another time), and learnt recently -- and not surprisingly -- that intonation is located in a different part of the brain from other aspects of language. But why, when I, perhaps most people, would expect a child to sound weary, and everything that that entails, did my son's speech sound so unusually fluid and musical?
Whatever the reason, it was delightful to hear. And now I know it's there. So exciting for him, and for me, I'm sure it sets off a little synaptic fireworks display in my brain, it feels so enlivening to hear.
And so last night up they went to the bathroom to go through the ritual involving oddly twisted tissues, discussion of clots, monitoring blood going down the throat (which really causes P to lose it), and other details with which they are both very familiar. I listened sleepily from the bedroom in case things took a turned for the worse and I was required. Being only half-awake and slightly too far from the bathroom to hear the words, I monitored the timbre of the conversation.
Blow me down; in the middle of the night, leaning over the bathroom basin waiting for the blood to stop, Primo was alert, talkative, and most striking of all, his intonations were the most expressive that I've ever heard. For years I've listened to his rather monotonous mode of speaking (another source of non-finite grief that occurs in relation to the lack of facial and vocal expression -- perhaps I'll elaborate another time), and learnt recently -- and not surprisingly -- that intonation is located in a different part of the brain from other aspects of language. But why, when I, perhaps most people, would expect a child to sound weary, and everything that that entails, did my son's speech sound so unusually fluid and musical?
Whatever the reason, it was delightful to hear. And now I know it's there. So exciting for him, and for me, I'm sure it sets off a little synaptic fireworks display in my brain, it feels so enlivening to hear.
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