Our tale this evening is but a series of happenings.
We walked home from school, which was, he tells me, great. There were lots of smiles. His favourite bit of learning was maths. We remained hand in gentle hand all the way.
I ate my dinner sitting on the landing simultaeneously holding onto the door to a Little Man’s room to avoid either of us being hurt.
I learned exactly how wide a range of words can be created with the word “head” at the end when you’re trying to be insulting or rude (and don’t yet have a full grasp of how to truly offend). I still think – as I commented on Twitter earlier – that Willyhead was the most creative individually, but it was perhaps the hidden poetry in the repetitious flow that was best of all.
For the second time the LM attended a new after school tennis club today. For the second time he appeared to have a great time. For the second time we didn’t even manage to get away from the site without him running off, banging his racket on the floor/wall, avoiding coming when called etc.
For the first time for several days our together time just before sleep was genuinely mutually warm, loving, comforting.
After some probing the LM stated that the pre-dinner troubles we’ve had for a good few days are all because he doesn’t like the taste of his toothpaste (brushing teeth and putting on pyjamas usually happen before dinner here).
Even though we’re nearing the end of his current bedtime book, and he is really enjoying it, the LM opted to do his homework which is due tomorrow instead. I think he did it ok too. When he then asked for his bedtime book and I reminded him we were really quite late and so there wasn’t time and we’d already agreed this evening’s choice … he settled down almost fuss-free.
I wasn’t very patient and raised my voice when being ignored finally wore me down.
I managed to seize whirling legs aimed at kicking me or forcing me away, and turned it into giggly time with a laughing, shaking countdown.
I remembered how hard I find it when half an hour or so of meltdown eventually cumulates in a cuddle being shared, a boy rocked, and a nursery rhyme sung … but then within moments I’m grabbing hands to circumvent being hit again.
I was super patient and succeeded in doing a few chores while calmly letting rage have its platform.
Apparently I was this evening a weehead person who he is going to hit in the face with a very hard thing that will really hurt.
I was also, I was told, a great person who is awesome and cute and cuddly.
Our tale this evening is but a series of feelings.