Holidays

"Can I tell you the reason I had to come into your bed last night?"

"Sure."

"It's because kids have these things called realities."

"Realities?"

"Yes. They're like these tiny things that live inside your bones."

"Okay."

"They live mainly in the bones in your feet. And they're like eyes. I have one here." *points to the third eye spot on your forehead* "And last night my realities made me come in here."

I'm sorry I missed Thanksgiving notes for you, my Succotash. I am afraid that I had a book come out right before Thanksgiving, and then I was on the road for it, and my work ate my brain. For Thanksgiving this year we had kind of a big crowd actually - Ginger and Brian, Rhod and Vicki, Ama and PopPop, Miss Margie and Mister Bob, and us three. I put out your great grandmother's silver and all the old linens, and it was really quite beautiful, even after one of the leaves of the breakfast table collapsed and doused Vicki with red wine. 

Then for Christmas we had Grandpa and Aunt Rachel and her new boyfriend Dave staying over, and on Christmas day we added Ama and PopPop and Uncle Eli and Aunt Jenny - newly engaged at last! - and the volume of presents rained upon you was truly staggering. By far the biggest hit, however, was a George Washington costume, with a waistcoat and tricorn hat and bootlike leggings which you then wore for two days in a row. As I write this now one of the buttons from the waistcoat sits next to my laptop, waiting to be sewn back on. I got some pretty great pictures of you by the cannon at Fort Sewall. You also got some long knee socks which I think are technically meant for soccer, but which you have decided are "stockings" to wear with your clothes from "the olden times." 

Right now you and your dad are on your way outside to play with your new remote control car. Other items of note: you and I appeared in the first annual Old North "no rehearsal Christmas pageant," which was less chaotic than I was led to expect. You and I were sheep, and to be a sheep you determined to wear your rabbit costume, which still fits two years later. You actually informed me that you were a "Wererabbit," and that you were going to burn the meeting house down. Your father was very proud.

As we were getting ready for dinner on Christmas eve I had to put in you in a time out. Why? Because you were so insistent on being allowed to play with your great-grandmothers fragile silver coffee pot that you tried to throw a chair when I wouldn't let you. So, in some sense, though this was our first Christmas without my mother here, your penchant for delicate decorate art objects means she was here all the same. I offered you a silver sugar bowl or creamer instead, but you were adamant that it had to have a *lid.* I tried to explain, while you were in time out on the stairs, that it was so fragile even I am not allowed to play with it. You were mournful in your promises that you wouldn't break it, and I tried to assure you that I believed you, but that it was *so* fragile it would be hard not to break it on accident, and that we wanted to keep it safe for you to give to your children. As I said this, however, I heard the lunacy of it - we had to keep it safe so you could also tell your children they couldn't touch it? Is that a ridiculous position? Maybe it is. I don't know. I'm doing my best here. The salient point is, you really love sterling silver hollowware from 100 years ago. 

Today after church we walked the Murphys home - there was a lot of infighting among them and whining from you because you didn't have a hat and didn't want to go to the grocery store - but we survived and obtained buttermilk and black eyed peas for me to make for luck tomorrow. I haven't made black eyed peas in several years. I secretly worry it's this oversight that has contributed the horrors unfolding in the Middle East right now. So many horrid world events have unfolded in your short life span. I would give anything for 2024 to be a year of boredom and lack of news. That's my wish for us, and for the world at large - no news. Please, God, no news. 

You are getting more willful, but are also struggling with the tension between your growing desire for independence, and the anxiety that brings up in you. You will loudly announce you are not afraid of ANYTHING, but haven't been able to go longer than two hours sleeping in your big kid bed alone. You want to do things yourself, but haven't figured out that some things require practice before they can be mastered. You deal with your social anxiety by pretending to be someone else, which on some level I don't understand, though of course I do the same thing, but in my work, and also in my professional persona, which is related to, but different, from the person I really imagine myself to be. We are applying to Tower and Shore for you for next year, hoping a smaller class size and a more teacher-led curriculum will give you the calmness and structure that we suspect you really need to feed your voracious, observant, and introspective brain. We should know by February if either of those is happening. 

So. Here we are, on the last day of 2023. You are four years and almost three months old. I just had to step away for a moment to have a huge throwdown with you because you wanted someone to go to the bathroom with you and read a book. I'm in the unfortunate position of having to teach you that the world does not exist for your entertainment and convenience. You don't like it one bit. I don't either, frankly. But while I try to erect a scaffolding around you that makes you feel safe and secure, well loved and known in your community, I am also keenly aware that the world can be a cold and unfeeling place. And I want you to be safe and secure in yourself there, too. Because I love you more than anything in the world.