Decorating the tree

Elias has become quite the independent little man since starting school. It has astounded me in many ways over the past few months what he is both capable of and what he is doing. It's has been wonderful, I really feel like we are converging. For the longest time I can recall feeling like I didn't know him at all, what he was about, what really motivates and drives him? I don't know if he has made more sense of that for himself and it is apparent or if he has really allowed me to get to know him better. However it came about will remain a mystery. The outcome, however, warms my heart each and everyday.

Although one thing does remain a mystery...what is happening in school? It's my desire to not let go of him that keeps this need to know all of the happenings for each of his waking moments alive, I'm sure. But when he comes home and tells me, grinning very innocently from ear to ear and reporting that he "lost the opportunity" to do some activity, I cannot let it go. I need to dig at it until I can get to the bottom of it. He reported, "I was playing a game with Ira and I said "oinky oinky," then Mary Jo made me sit and do nothing." How horrible this sounded! I dig deeper but the story goes on the make even less sense and become more confused. UGH! I find myself frustrated at IRA, who is this character, anyway? Why does Elias always return home with stories of Ira being a stinker? Then, I imagine poor Elias sitting all day at a table, staring out into space doing nothing and blankly wondering, "Why?" My rage turns to the teachers. Aren't they teaching any basic problem solving skills? We do that at home ALL OF THE TIME with Dahlia and Elias...time outs are the absolute last resort, when all else has failed and the violence simply must stop. Then, as if from out of nowhere, frustration turns towards Brad. Why can't he write a letter to the teacher and tell her we are paying a boat load and the very least she could do is give us daily reports of Elias's every interaction? Why do I ALWAYS have to look like the irrational, overly protective freak-o mom? Poor Brad, that was really from out of nowhere and completely unwarranted. I'm sorry, my sweet. I guess the answer to the last question is that I AM. I may always be. I'll accept ( or at least try) that sometimes I may be reactive and other times, I might just blog it out, like what a complete bitch that parent was that would not relent in remarking in front of Elias that Elias was wearing pajamas to school. Bitch! (Forgive me for swearing in your blog, my love)

On a more glorious note, Brad and the kids picked out the best christmas tree ever last night while I was working. This christmas is so magical for Elias already, I can feel it. The day I brought up the decorations, he immediately found a bag of little painted wodden ornaments and stashed most of them away in his stocking only after spending much time creating an "ornament train" along the floor.

While Elias was at school today, I sorted through all of the ornaments and put aside those that were unbreakable. I decided that with Dahlia being the "messing with everything" enthusiast that she is, maybe this year, we'll keep out only the unbreakable ones. While I put Dahlia down for a nap, I invited him to hang some of the ornaments. To my amazement, he hung them all and then did a little rearranging of the "fragile ones" I had placed higher up. The tree is an all of 5 feet tall noble fir which Brad says Elias picked out. It has a stubby, wide load at the bottom and a tall, pokey top. It's wonderful and perfect. And, Elias did a beautiful job decorating the tree. I so enjoy decoratng the tree, too. I hope he always will.

For the past few nights, I've been going to sleep with Elias and then Dahlia. I usually camp out with Dahlia and Brad with Elias. We've been doing things this way for so long, I had forgotten how much I miss being with Elias at night (even though he did torture me). We have had several lovely evenings of reading Peter Pan. Then, as we are falling asleep, he asked, "Can I touch your ear all the way until morning?" "What do you think?" I reply. "I think I can," he says and then when touching my ear gets too rough, he holds my hands, and then, much more quickly than I remember ever happening when he was just a wee bit younger, his hand relaxes in my hand and I can hear his breathing become very deep and rhythmic, and he is asleep. Oh, how I love this little man. More than words can say!