So, now that we are officially on break, I can reflect on the past months and offer insights. Except I’m so cashed from waking up at 5 with Sophie and getting up to put pacis back in or to get drinks of water for Cohen that I don’t really remember what happened way back then. But this last week has seen some wonderous memories that I’ll feebly do my best to articulate.
early (and I mean very early) Saturday morning, I was laying on the couch trying to keep Sophie sleeping while Cohen ate his bar on the love seat soaking in whatever drivel Disney channel was vomiting out that day (its all thats on at that hour), and I heard a rumbling outside that sounded like a plow. So, I glanced outside and was delighted to find nearly a 1/2 inch dusting everything. I told Cohen he had to look at the blinds, then–with grandeur–whipped them open to unveil a picture window’s worth of snow covered front yard and park.
“cool.” he said, turning back to the cartoons. After the show was over, he asked “we can play in it?” So, after Liz woke up, we suited up in last years snow gear–all of which was a tad too tight and therefore a lengthy process that made me hope outloud that we would stay out longer than it took to get dressed.
Finally, we tromped out into the driveway and Cohen smiled a smiled that didn’t melt away until about an hour an 15 minutes later when I literally had to chase him into the garden to corral him inside so Liz could get ready for Cassie’ s bridal shower.
A soon as he hit the front yard, dove headlong into the snow/grass and declared “I’m making now angels!” Next, we shoveled the driveway. (I pushed it all into a pile in the corner of the yard so we had enough snow to do something with) We tried turning the pile into a snow man, but Cohen packs snow the way blacksmiths forge steel and the snow balls didn’t seem to last. We resorted to watching Cohen stamp on the snow with his boot while he declared “I’m making a housedoor.”
When pressed, he informed me that a housedoor was a door that you go into a house. Which makes sense, unless you watched him make one out of stomping on snow. He didn’t see the disconnect. He must have done this for over half an hour. HE would sometimes get down on his knees and use hi hands to shape mysterious housedoor parts with the sort of focus/spaciness that led me to burn an entire stick into a brick at the fishfry. (a nod to aunt amy–sorry all else) Every once in a while, he would stop kicking and tell me “its almost time to say tumber (timber). I kick it and you say tumber.”
He was never able to explain why housedoors needed timber yellings.
After he had pretty much mashed the snow pile to nothingness and his body heat had turned that nothing ness to slush, he went to a new spot in the yard and fumbly fashioned through his ralphie mittens a snow ball. He told me he wanted to “make a snow ball fight.” I sort of felt the urge to play with him for real and starting making snowballs and bombing them across the yard as he ran for cover ehind the bush, tree, address sign, stairs and eventually the back yard. He told me to keep doing it so I didn’t feel to bad.
Lest you judge me for beating up on a three year old, I did help him make a pile of snoballs and stood dutifully still while I let him pelt me at close range.
re-reading the above, I realize I didn’t even articulate what was so great about this time. I just loved it. I had as much fun in the snow as he had at the hokey game. My total failure to articulate it reminds me of Flaubert’s quote from madame bovary “language is a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance, while all the while we long to move the stars to pity.” I just want the world to know the joy I experienced, but all you get is some ravings about normal snow play. ugh.
Earlier tonight, Liz and I let the kids play while I helped her record Psalms for this project my family is doing for our grandma. Basically, she just reads 8 psalms into a computer. Trouble is, Sophie and Cohen decided to play this chase game where one would chase the other. This sort of thing is accompanied usually by lots of screaming and giggling and was tonight, too. Although, tonight each kid decided to push various things as they went. Cohen tried his hand at a loud, cranky dumptruck and Sophie pushed one of those loud poppers. They both crashed into each other, the floor and the wall frequently making some of the psalms sound like they were backed alternately by a pre-school and a war-zone.
Eventually, we finished and they kept running for nearly an hour. Cohen would shove Sophie against the stove and then tell her to race as he took off into her room and then wait for Sophie to come trotting (each trip progressively slower than the last) out of the kitchen. Then, he would push her with both hands back into the kitchen. Everytime he would push her Liz and I would almost get up to stop him because it looked so violent. But, he somehow knew just how hard to push without shoving her over. Its clearly the sort of intuition that they will always have and no one else will ever be a part of and that makes me happy.
Lastly,s ince the weekend, Cohen has been gathering whatever stuff he can find and making me wrap it up in construction paper and string. In small batches, I have wrapped: a truck, a digger, a remote, a crayon, toenail clipper and LOTS of books. After each batch, he would run them down to the basement. He would then spend the next few hours asking Liz and I if we can open them after nap, dinner, bath or whatever comes next.
That’s all I’ve got. Happy Holidays. God’s Peace and Grace.