My little chef/sailor/artist/ballerina
It is really exciting to me to watch Beth's imagination develop. Or maybe her imagination has always been this active, and her verbal skills are just now catching up so that she's able to tell us what she's thinking. Either way, lately we've been getting a glimpse into her inner world, and it's quite exciting.
She likes to cook. A coaster is a plate, an old unused car key is a knife, and she stands at the coffee table, murmuring to herself. "Cake...mmmmm....cut it up!"
The other day I found her outside on the balcony, standing in an empty cardboard box. "You having fun in that box?" I asked. "Boat, mom. Boat," she corrected me, and went back to sailing across unseen seas.
She's even started drawing incomprehensible pictures. "Look mama! Look!" she called to me last week in a very excited tone. I stared at the scribbles on the page, unsure what to say. She was pointing at a particular set of wild lines in the corner. "Look!" she repeated. "That's brown," I finally said. "It's elephant," she said, then nodded and continued producing what looked to me like scribbles, but which I know in actuality were dozens of elephants, worked in exquisite detail, stomping across the page with trunks held high.
She's also been very into dancing lately. Whenever music comes on the radio, or the TV, or one of her numerous musical toys, she drops everything and begins twirling around, arms waving in the air and a grin on her face. "I dancin'! I dancin'!" she shouts.
She regards with me such a serious gaze at the times when she shares her thoughts with me. As if to say: Can't you tell that this a boat, mom? Do I have to spell it out for you? Mom, can't you see the elephant?
There was a time when I too saw boats in boxes and elephants everywhere. I am privileged that Beth helps me put my foot back through that magical door called imagination.
When Beth dances, it is not enough that she should dance alone. She wants everyone around her to join in the celebration. She holds her hand out and beckons. "C'mon, Mama. C'mon."
How can I resist? I stop what I'm doing and join in the dance.
She likes to cook. A coaster is a plate, an old unused car key is a knife, and she stands at the coffee table, murmuring to herself. "Cake...mmmmm....cut it up!"
The other day I found her outside on the balcony, standing in an empty cardboard box. "You having fun in that box?" I asked. "Boat, mom. Boat," she corrected me, and went back to sailing across unseen seas.
She's even started drawing incomprehensible pictures. "Look mama! Look!" she called to me last week in a very excited tone. I stared at the scribbles on the page, unsure what to say. She was pointing at a particular set of wild lines in the corner. "Look!" she repeated. "That's brown," I finally said. "It's elephant," she said, then nodded and continued producing what looked to me like scribbles, but which I know in actuality were dozens of elephants, worked in exquisite detail, stomping across the page with trunks held high.
She's also been very into dancing lately. Whenever music comes on the radio, or the TV, or one of her numerous musical toys, she drops everything and begins twirling around, arms waving in the air and a grin on her face. "I dancin'! I dancin'!" she shouts.
She regards with me such a serious gaze at the times when she shares her thoughts with me. As if to say: Can't you tell that this a boat, mom? Do I have to spell it out for you? Mom, can't you see the elephant?
There was a time when I too saw boats in boxes and elephants everywhere. I am privileged that Beth helps me put my foot back through that magical door called imagination.
When Beth dances, it is not enough that she should dance alone. She wants everyone around her to join in the celebration. She holds her hand out and beckons. "C'mon, Mama. C'mon."
How can I resist? I stop what I'm doing and join in the dance.
1 comments:
As you can tell, I am reading through the last week after popping over from Jen R's blog. I feel right at home--sweet little ones, interspersed with books--I'm sure I'll be back.
My little guy (as close as I get to having a cute little name, although I do also call him Kyle), beckons me to join the fun, too. He's already a bookish guy, too, so often he will get a book, sit down, and pat the floor next to him.
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