“A nest,” he responded. But of course.
We were having tacos for dinner,
so it wasn’t too long before dinner was ready and we were telling Cal that it
was time to wash his hands for dinner.
“Can I finish my drawing after
dinner?” he asked? Clearly, he had a
vision for this in his mind.
“Yes, as long as there’s enough
time after you finish eating before it’s time to go to bed,” I responded. The kids didn’t nap and went to bed late each
of the weekend days, so Dan had already set expectations that they’d be going
to bed a little earlier than usual. I
did not complain. (Cal didn’t, either.)
Cal ate all of his dinner
(including seconds and thirds of chips, his chosen tool to scoop up the meat
and refried beans from his plate). His
last bite just swallowed, he stood up and took his plate, fork and cup to the
sink. Dan wiped Cal’s face and hands
with our post-meal washcloth, a must after any meal if you’ve ever seen Cal
after having eaten. And then Cal proceeded
to assume his position at the kitchen island to add some penguins to his
picture. He had about 10 minutes of
drawing time, something Dan reminded him of and which Cal completely understood
and accepted without a squawk.
He added more penguins – Empire penguins
– to his picture. 10 minutes went by
quickly and pleasantly; and with maybe three or four more penguins drawn, it
was time to stop and head upstairs to get ready for bed, of which Dan informed
Cal.
Cal put his pencil down without
negotiating more time or whining that he wasn’t finished. He put his pencils in the case and as he did
so asked, “Can I finish in the morning?”
Dan told him something to the
effect of, “If you get up and ready for school and there’s time before we have
to leave for school you can.”
Cal heard the conditions,
repeated them as acknowledgement that he had accepted them and then headed
upstairs for what would turn out to be a very easy bedtime routine (for Cal;
Ella was a different story not pertinent to this post).
I was up earlier than usual this
morning to get a run in, to prepare a crockpot dinner and to fix Dan’s and my lunches
before getting ready for work (this overachieving type of morning generally
follows one where I felt lazy and contributing to family discord). I had just laid the pieces of bread out on
the counter to make our sandwiches when I saw the light of Cal’s room project
off of the half wall by the landing of our stairs. I smiled, remembering the exchange he and Dan
had had the night before.
A minute later, Cal was standing
at the island in the kitchen, dressed and with a proud smile. “Can I draw, Mommy?” he asked.
“Yes, you can,” I told him and
proceeded to pull out his colored pencils.
We had 50 minutes before we’d have to be leaving for our days.
“Can I have my Notre Dame pencil?”
he asked.
Notre Dame pencil… Notre Dame pencil… hmmm… “Notre Dame pencil?” I
asked him.
“Yes, it’s in the drawer,” he
told me, as if this was really clarifying.
I opened the junk drawer of our
island, dug through the box of pens and pencils and honed in on the pencil with
the shamrocks plastered all over it. But of course.
“Is this it?” I asked him,
certain it was.
“Yes,” he responded.
He then proceeded to add more
penguins to his drawing as I assembled mine and Dan’s lunches. We talked about things that I can’t remember
now. I only remember it being incredibly
pleasant and peaceful. Just the two of
us keeping our hands busy and our minds engaged and interested in each other.Cal decided that he wanted to give his drawing to his teacher, which he eventually did. I did take a picture of it, though -- here it is:
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