I woke at 5:05 a.m. on the only day of the week I didn’t have to get up early and could not for the life of me fall back to sleep. My brain started to whir and rattle, still clearing the cobwebs when I heard a timid knocking at my door. While the response words were forming in my mind, Ev opened the door.
“CABLE FLASH! NEWS FLASH! NEWS FLASH!” the volume needs to come down about 30 decibels in order for me to hope to stay sane. It’s so early, intelligible words are still missing from my vocabulary.
My response is barely a whisper: “Mmm. Ssssshhhh. Yes Ev?”
“The news flash IS… I. have an N-A-P-H-S-T.” Ev staccato spits the letters out of his mouth using a monotone like a robot.
“What does that spell?”
“Concert. Outside. Everyone. Come.”
“Ev, you know perfectly well you know how to speak in complete sentences. I really would like to hear what you have to say, but you need to use whole sentences.”
“Ok Mama.” He lowers his head and starts clearing his throat.
Fighting the urge to laugh out loud, I patiently wait for the clearing and “ahems” to stop.
“Well, actually then…a-hem…I will tell you. Alex and I are having a concert in the back yard. TA-DA! Everyone will get these ballypox on their arms to protect them. If you have one, you can go up on stage and sing.”
“And what exactly is a ballypox, Ev?
Before I can address the taking things that don’t belong him, he continues, “These ballypox protect everyone from mosquito bites. You wear them right on your wrist like this and… BAM! No bites!”
“Ok then.” I answer.
“If you need anything now just tell me, I’ll be in my room,” and as quickly as he popped in, he turns on his heel and walks out.
I can hear him through the wall and know exactly where he is: there is a small corner in his room full of stuffed animals and pillows where he loves to snuggle and create. As I listen, I wonder what Mrs. Johnson would say about his rendition of the ABC’s song.
“ABCDEFGeeeee-HIKK-LMNOPeeeee-QRX- PUV-WXY and Z. Now I know my ABC’s, next time won’t you sing with MEEEEEEE!” he pauses a moment to holler, “I’m practicing for the concert, Mama, just in case you’re wonderin’.”
Ev continues laughing and talking to all of his imaginary friends in his room, no shortage of ideas or things to do or songs to compose.
I love the way he lives life—a snippet here, a snippet there—fully engaged all the while. I love his imagination and joy, his energy and his creativity.
Now, If only I could get him to not touch things that don’t belong to him.
Oh yes, and to lower the volume.
Just a smidge.