The hum of the dishwasher is both domestic and calm—a contradiction 'round these parts. Today, I edited a story that suggested a white noise machine in the bedroom for better rest, and also recommended stroking your man's hand or doing an activity he really likes, like watching sports, because it will make him feel good and therefore improve your relationship. I cut that part out.
Both boys are in a flow. Jules is making a end-of-year card for his bus driver. "What comes after the 's' in vacation?"
Uhh....
What does a 16 look like? Kai talks over Jules, who gets frustrated and talks louder. "Mummmyyyy... what's next?"
"Well, there's actually no S; a T sounds like SH," I tell him, damning the idiosyncratic spellings of the English language when his face starts to crumple. He recovers. Turns out he hadn't even gotten anything down on paper yet. Phew. "So an H comes after the T?"
"What. Does. A. Six. Teen. Look. Like.??"
I silently draw the figures of a 1 and a 6 on the sheet in front of Kai. Satisfied, he starts to copy them, neatly but backwards. Lately, though, he's had a burst of interest and skill when it comes to scribing. It's cool.
I spell out the rest of vacation for Jules, recognizing that a tiny mistake could throw him over the edge. He writes it all down and then proceeds to write, on his own, after "I will miss you on summer vacation," "But I will still see you." I am not so sure about that. But I don't say it. I'm trying to check my tendency of squashing magical thinking. In fact, I'm trying to do more magical thinking myself.
Tap, tap, tap. It's Kai's pen bouncing impatiently on my shoulder. "Now what, Mama?"
My head is spinning. It's all so fast. By the time I react, they're on to the next thing.
