250 words on how you’re finishing 2012

Cameron – December 2012:

Today you were suddenly tall enough – and so excited – to reach all the light switches. You’re kind of OCD about closing all the little windows on your advent calendar (can’t think where you get that).  You asked me, ‘If Dad is the head of the house, who is the feet?’ You add, ‘…I should think,’ to the end of statements – the influence of Enid Blyton and C. S. Lewis (I should think) because we’re done with the Faraway Tree and we’re onto Narnia. You may have chicken pox (or, in Scott-speak, chiggen pock). You’ve had a headache and today the number of mozzie bites all over your body steadily increased. And they don’t look like mozzie bites anymore. Your thirst for knowledge humbles me. Every day you ask me how-what-where-why-when and you drink in definitions of words like antagonise and bachelor and society (‘So that’s like, the public?’). The world comes at you so differently. Yesterday Scott was cold in the pool; you said, ‘But I don’t hear him shiver?’ You remind me every day: ‘Mom! Ask me what was my favourite part of today and what was my not favourite part.’ Then: ‘Mom, what was your favourite part of the day and what was your not favourite part or haven’t you got to it yet?’ Your freckles make you positively edible. You’re super chuffed to drink out of a grownup-real-mug. You are scarily not scared of heights. You are God’s glory to me in the mundane and the magnificent.

Scott – December 2012:

You let go the swing – wave to me proud, like, look-Ma-no-hands. You get breathless about birds and aeroplanes and you love big trees and big sky. Softest heart – aggressively affectionate – my Scott-Scott. At supper you make us play your copying game. Hands on hips ‘til we all take your silent Simon-says cues. You prompt Cam – you get that he doesn’t see like you.  You copy him, too, scrutinizing things too close – pupils constricting.  I can tell what you’re singing from the sort-of tune though the words are hit and miss and achingly cute. Quite a temper, you have. Sharing is caring, my love. The cause-and-effect pathways are forming in your brain i.e. ‘Note to self: she’s taking out the wooden spoon. Do not throw cucumber again.’ You tell me long, riveting stories and I understand 20-25%, approximately. You can do the 24-piece Noddy puzzle all on your own in ten minutes and then you help your brother. It’s getting easier to take you to restaurants. I open the front door sometimes to find you and Maria burying yourselves under a blanket on the couch. She’s giggling and you’re stage-whispering. ‘Hide! Hide!’ You couldn’t find the Lego man’s hat this afternoon so you put a steering wheel on his head. Pure genius. When it’s your turn to choose the bedtime audio book you pretend to decide (‘Ummm….’) but always it’s, ‘Heidi!’ You’re asleep before Clara ever sees the Alps. You are God’s glory to me in the mundane and the magnificent.