He played with the pizza van he'd earned for using the toilet.
He thumbed through books borrowed from the library, pausing on pages with garbage trucks and diggers.
He peered out the passenger side window, watching a cement mixer pour concrete.
While he obsessed over trucks and trains and busses and big machines, I thought about things with wings, and about the ways his teachers will help him grow his own.
Posted by Andy and Jenni at 8:23 PM
And the edibleness of creatures: Can you fry komodo dragon and eat it?
Watching me cook breakfast: Eggs are really cool structures. Maybe people could build buildings shaped like eggs. How many buildings are there on earth?
Hearing the oven timer, indicating dinner ready: That pizza is gonna be so good I can smell it with my ears! Is that even possible?
Totally random: How do our eyeballs stay wet? Celia was blind, right. Did she know what I look like?
After spanish class at school: I wonder if, where people speak Spanish, the keyboards look different. You know, because they have more than twenty six letters, like they have an extra “N.”
Working on a diagram: Tollie, I asked you not to bother me at my desk. This is the last time straw.
Posted by Andy and Jenni at 9:57 PM
I lie beside them at night, sing, or don’t sing, as they request.
I listen all day long, take note of breakfast worries and bedtime wishes and most everything in between. I pay attention to fickle desires, acknowledge grudges and fears. Affirm greatest dreams, and salute smallest steps. Greet bug discoveries and robot voices, take note of progress and of what prompts belly laughs. Watch them test boundaries and notch belts, recognize failure and try not to interfere.
I do my best to be with them, to look at them with eyes that say things like amazing, and hope they receive the love.
Mostly, now, ours are the ordinary terrors and everyday miracles of raising boys, and our children’s challenges the old familiar ones of learning to live as themselves in the world.
It’s our challenge, too — I catch myself trying to narrow the distance between who they are and who I want them to be. The durability of parental love, though, is that they can be themselves, plain kids, any kind of kids they want to be. They are already every day miracles.
Posted by Andy and Jenni at 9:26 PM