People Who Love, People You Love

i find sometimes that toddler is easier to "love" than my seven year old. he is totally and completely himself, all the time. Meaning it is simpler to know him and interact and enjoy life with him.

Boy is not. Boy worries about what someone else is feeling and doing more than he thinks about himself. he comes across sweet, but it is sad to watch as i see him crawl up and down in his skin, searching for comfortable. i am sad for him because i know what lies in store for him. Sartre's version of hell.

it is in the wiring. boy and i are so wired. the default is to please and make happy, charm and heal and wheel and deal. but in the end, we're alone and exhausted. (now doesn't that just make it sound so much less selfish than it actually is?)

toddler was such a little squeezapotomus tonight! oh, who says they're the terrible twos? i never want them to end...

"want play da panano"

"that's the guitar baby"

"no, it dee panano"

"sweetie, that's a guitar."

"no, panano."

then boy tells him what it is and he shuts up. why does mommy lack such credibility?

i love writing. it is such an exploration and adventure. i wish i'd been an english major. no wonder they usually seemed to have it so together. writing is an exercise, a discipline and a journey to self and others. and there are so many rites of passage.