Vignette: Ya

I’ve been meaning to type this up for some time, but every time I sit down at the computer, my man interrupts me – – tugging at my arm and insisting I put him in his bedtime pants and help him get to sleep.  And when Ya wants something, he’s pretty insistant on getting it in an instant.

10.1 (peek a boo)

“Seatbelt off!” he says in a voice that is somehow both raspy and forceful at the same time.  And as soon as the button is pushed to free him, he bounds out his car seat with seemingly endless energy ready to be released.  “Mommy, keys?” he begs, reaching for the half dozen on the key ring, selecting one at random, and forcing it into the door lock while pushing himself taller by standing up on his tip-toes.

In the house, he proclaims, “Shoes off!” and proceeds to plop down on the floor, rubbing one heel against the edge of a shoe to wrangle it off.  He plucks off his socks, crams them into his shoes in little balls, and discards both with a toss toward the wall. 

Free of it all, he climbs the stairs slowly, one hand tracing along the wall and leaving a trail of tiny prints with remnants of who-knows-what on his fingers.  And then he’s off to play – first with blocks, which he stacks and then karate-chops, delighting in how they scatter.  He moves next to trucks and trains, beeping or chugging as he presses the vehicle into the rug and drags it along the rug as he crawls around.  Quickly boring of these novelties, he quickly passes through dozens of other momentary activities, leaving a record of discards aroung the room.  Then, finally, he is tired.

He calls “Need night-nights,” and climbs into bed, pulling up the covers as he says, “Come on, Mama.”

— classroom exercise, 10.7.10
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