Day 100: In which we regroup

Girl played this morning for the first time since Saturday morning. In fact, she played all day, and hearing her sass-mouth has never been so welcome. It was Papa’s birthday.

How did I spend the day? Putting away Christmas (yes, so late!) and cleaning up after sickness.

Boy was tearful and touchy this morning, and so asking them to make cards for Papa when he and Uncle J went to the YMCA seemed like it might be a disaster. Girl, of course, happily made her card and it was adorable. Sometimes when I watch her, it makes me sad for Boy. Things are so easy for her that can be so hard for him.

And indeed: Boy asked me what Papa likes and decided to draw a picture of guys running. His first two tries something was ‘wrong’ with the drawing and he asked for another piece of paper. I told him that the third one wasn’t going to be perfect, either, and so he was either going to have to be okay with a not-perfect drawing, or just not give Papa a card. And either one of those things was okay. So whether or not the third drawing was perfect, in his opinion, he didn’t say anything about it. And then, laughing a little,  he asked if I would write the words on the back, because he didn’t want to freak out and crumple up his drawing if he made a mistake. And I said sure, and that I thought that was good thinking, and a good sense of humor about it.

And after that he had a great day. A couple of times he came and got me when he was having a hard time with Girl (for example, when she was taking apart something he had made with Legos to make something else–not that she knew he cared about it anymore). And that was fabulous, instead of fighting with her. And when he started getting upset, I heard him taking deep breaths.

Tomorrow when he wakes up, he will be eight years old.

And I vow that this is the year we conquer these particular troubles (not that he won’t ever have any others). That he will be able to look back on the day before his 8th birthday and be incredulous that he was so afraid of writing a letter incorrectly that he couldn’t write these words himself: Happy Birthday, Papa! You are the best Papa and you work very hard. I love you so much. Love, [Boy]

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