Time Machine

James is Different

I want to tell you how James practices the piano.

When he notices a mistake, he laughs, shakes it off and immediately tries again.

This is shockingly different from what I remember about Alice and Robert starting out. When Alice started, I was new at this piano practice thing and I presumed she was a responsible and forward-thinking 6-year-old who would practice all alone in the front room while I made dinner. HA! She was 1) terrified of making a mistake and 2) terrified of being alone. Mistakes led to sobbing and wanting to give up. This was not a good strategy for me to use. By the time Robert started 3 years later, I was a little wiser. I knew I needed to sit by him for the first couple of years. But oh, the wailing and gnashing of teeth when he would make a mistake! He couldn't leave it alone. He felt compelled to start from the beginning of the piece and perform it flawlessly or else it wouldn't count as practice. I started researching Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. He's not that way anymore. He's loosened up considerably.

So, I was ready for James' first practices with words of encouragement, sitting on the bench next to him, prepared with all sorts of "growth mindset" statements that celebrate effort and incremental change.

He loooooved having me sit right next to him. That was a win.

And then he made his first mistake. He just laughed it off and tried again. I didn't need to say ANYTHING. This kid is okay with failure and inherently motivated to try again. So far.

I am agog.

He also hasn't developed a very strong ear yet, so he's having to read the notes very closely. I think that's a good thing. Playing by ear is a gift and a curse...just ask Robert. 

I shouldn't be so surprised about this approach to learning. James is the kid who speeds up on his bike when he comes to a hill. The kid who always has something to prove. The kid who wants to do it himself...quietly and sneaky-like so you're all surprised to see him finally do it.

So different.

I Love You

Matthew turns to me after reading stories tonight and says, "I love you."

"Thanks! I love you, too."

"Do you love me so much vat you always wanna be wiff me?"

"Hmmm (it IS bedtime, so I don't really want to be with him any longer tonight, but I choose to answer with the bigger picture in mind). Yes!"

"Me too. Vat's why I follow you all awound in evee woom."

"Ah, I see. That makes sense."

"And I sometimes want yoh attention a lot so I jus' say, "Mom? Mom? Mom?"" and he grabs my arm and hug squeezes it as tight as he can.

Make me laugh, make me cry

Matthew made me laugh today. We were driving to the store with the windows down and he says, "Yaaay! I like vuh windows down! Except when I have snot on my awms. Ven I jus' git fweeeeezing!"

****************

Robert made me want to cry today.

I brought a tomato hornworm home from the farm. Tomato hormworms  are gigantic caterpillars that can decimate a full-sized tomato plant in a week. They're ravenous. They're perfectly camouflaged. And if you're lucky enough to spot one and tenacious enough to finally wrestle them off the plant, they flail and arch their bodies like they're trying to turn around and bite you. Nasty "little" things.

Anyway, I brought one home from the farm to show James. All the kids were amazed at its size. We picked a volunteer tomato start from the compost pile and put it in a vase to house/feed this guy. Well, this guy was a bit of an escape artist. While the other kids and I were off hearing about freezing cold snot arms, Robert was home with Bobby. He went to check on the caterpillar and couldn't find it in its box. He started looking around for it and felt something squish under his foot. He was horrified to discover that he had wounded the back end of the caterpillar that had somehow fallen onto the floor. Robert was almost crying when we got home. He couldn't stand the thought that he was responsible for this creature's suffering and possible death. He would not forgive himself. Even for an accident. I was touched that he felt so deeply for a pest of a worm he had only met an hour earlier. A caterpillar that I would have gleefully stepped on in the farm parking lot if I hadn't promised to show James the next one I found.

Well, the caterpillar kept moving around. It wasn't clear whether he would live or die. Robert was all torn up. He said he didn't want it to suffer, but he didn't want to mercy kill something that might heal on its own with a little time. He wished for an insect vet. He followed me around inside and outside the house as I worked, feeling a little insecure, concerned, but being patient and watchful.

After dinner tonight, Alice walked by the caterpillar's enclosure and gasped. Jumped, actually. She said, "I think I just saw the caterpillar die. It just fell off its branch." She was right. Robert was truly sad, and his mouth curled downward and his voice shook as he asked about what to do next.

He asked for a funeral. A proper burial.

Robert was more shaken by all this than James.

I hugged him tight and he hugged me back. I understand the guilt. I understand the feeling of loss. I wonder how such compassion can exist side-by-side with the abrasive and competitive bits that flare up whenever James is nearby.

*sigh*

No matter. He's a 9-year-old boy. I love him. We will have a caterpillar funeral.

First egg!

One of our hens has started to lay eggs:

Teeny weeny, perfectly smooth, and beautiful eggs. No one is more excited about this than our in-house naturalist and outdoor expert James. He ran outside in the rain this morning to collect today's egg.