Being themselves

It was warm enough in the sun to go sockless, but the sidewalks were unbelievably slick this morning on the way to the school, and it was mostly black ice, the trickster. Our first venture out only saw us across the street, scrabbling not to lose ground on the 3 degree grade of the curb cut, before I decided to come back home for my brilliant Ice Trekkers. I was then able to hold the boys' hands, stalwart as an oak, while they boot-skated, as James likes to say.

James's feet slipped out from under him. "That's OK," he said. "'I love to slip!' said the guard." Probably a quarter of James's conversation these days is delivered in this form, as dialogue attributed to one of his alter egos, most often a dog or a guard or a worker.

Henry slipped. "STOOpid ice!"

"Aw, the ice isn't stupid," I said."The ice is just being ice. It's enacting its icy nature."

Henry liked this idea. "Maybe the ice is protecting itself from its enemies."

I felt so happy. Maybe it was just the birds chirping, and the sun, and the fact that I was asleep last night before 9, but I enjoyed so thoroughly this perfectly--perfectly--characteristic exchange. I try not to make too much of the differences between Henry and James; I don't want either one to feel that he is the "X" one, while his brother is "Y". I don't want the way I see them to be fixed in my own mind, either. But I am certainly struck by this difference in the workings of their imaginations: James is forever trying on different characters--this morning, when he put on a pair of drab green pants (with puppies on them, but whatever), he threw his fist up in front of his face and grimaced fiercely, saying "I an army guy!"--while Henry is never anyone but Henry, making connections, drawing conclusions, speculating constantly on the mysteries of the world outside himself.

Equally typical were their reactions to slipping. James, making a virtue of necessity, is an inveterate spotter of silver linings. Henry, on the other hand, is a big one for cursing the darkness. I worry: Will James stick up for himself when he needs to? Will he be too devoted to peace to engage in necessary fights? Will Henry be able to forgive his own and others' mistakes? Will I ever be able to just hear his rage without reacting to it, making it worse? But sometimes, like this morning, it doesn't seem necessary to worry. It's just pure pleasure, watching them unfold.

Date night

Henry, after dinner, as we are nibbling dates: "Hey, I know, Mommy! On the weekend, James and I can go over to grandma's so you and Daddy can spend some time with each and you can play Chutes and Ladders..." (rising in a great crescendo of excitement) "...together!"

snow day morning

We are frozen in again today by the polar vortex. Outside is wondrously beautiful--intensest cerulean sky, glittery snow, still fresh on its second day because yesterday was too cold for traffic--but it is 5 below, and it hurts to breathe out there, so we are starting to feel a little confined. As I often do, I am wondering how Caroline Ingalls did it.

However, cabin fever, like any other, spikes and ebbs, and we've just had a good spell. I came into the living room to find Henry explaining the universe to James, who was enthralled.

"This is our planet," Henry said. "We are flying in outer space."

James: "Oh, wow, wow, wow! A castle!"Henry: "And knights!"

A few scenes from the turn of the year

1. James opened his present from Auntie (a puzzle) on Christmas morning and exclaimed with vigor, "Holy smokes!" I had never heard the expression out of his mouth before, nor am I aware of anyone using it around him, but it came to his lips with perfect aptness, to everyone's delight.

2. I had this brief conversation today with Henry: He had been sulky, contumacious, and out of sorts, refusing to get dressed, exclaiming if I tried to speak to him that I was hurting him, and rolling around on the bed and handling objects in a fashion that was clearly intended to suggest mischief, whether or not mischief was actually being made. I was ready to leave the house: a snowstorm and sub-zero high temperatures are rolling in over the weekend and I wanted all the time outside we could manage today. "I'm getting really angry," I said, and I felt one of those strange little jolts of injustice that plague me so unreasonably when the children and I are having a hard time. "You need to get.... if you don't get ... " I spluttered, with a threat to throw all the Lara bars in the house away, since they had been our last but one bone of contention, on the tip of my tongue. I stopped myself and went out of the room, closing the door behind me. "I need a sec," I said. "I need a minute to calm down." Twenty minutes later, Henry had dressed himself, tidied up some toys unprompted, and was putting on his socks and boots. "Sweetheart," I said to him. "You were having a bad time earlier, feeling pretty grumpy and bad." He agreed, but looked a little wary, as if he feared a big lecture. "I'm just wondering, " I said, "what I could do to be helpful when you feel like that. Should I hug you and hold you? Leave you alone?" "Leave me alone," he said immediately. "I just have to get that feeling out of me." 

3. We spent New Year's Eve with friends, and I opened the first of my 17 bottles of Dad's wine. It was a lovely time--and Peter came too, which was a rare treat. While I was getting dressed beforehand, in a hurry, James came into the bathroom to watch me multi-task by pulling on stockings while I sat on the toilet. Like his brother, he is pleased when I dress up. He was obviously impressed by the slightly shimmery black nylon fabric pooled at my ankles, and cast about for how best to express his feelings. "Mommy," he said. "You look pretty when you go pee-pee."

Apres le deluge

December rain

Here's good medicine for waking up on the wrong side of bed (because every side of the bed is wrong at 4:30 a.m.).

Henry (opening the back door and looking out onto this bleak, bleak December morning): "If you listen carefully, you can hear the music the rain makes!"

The last gasp of November

Yesterday:

Two boys in a boat

Today:

What are you doing, James?
"Us working!"