You've Got a Friend in Me
(If maybe a controlling one...)
Do you remember what it was like to be so caught up in what you were playing with your friends when you were little, that it was better than if it had been reality? I remember making our own summer camp program with neighborhood kids beneath the tall shrubs in our side-yard, sitting in Magnolia branches and taking notes like Harriet the Spy about suspicious cars passing by, and making Double Dare courses on our playset with toothpaste, flour, soap, and eggs- (I'm sure that was my mother's favorite one.) And that's just the beginning...
But I'm just starting to glimpse that sort of excitement about play in Evan. The other night, Shaun and I were sitting in our room when we heard him engaging Madalyn to play with him in her room, like he so often attempts to do. (He used to shut the door as an attempt to lock her in, but I worried about fingers with all the door-slamming. So when that was banned, he resorted to lining things up to block her in; buckets, baskets, his blue "anywhere chair," books- anything.) But back to this particular night, when he wanted to pretend that they shared a room and it was bedtime, and he had them eating slices of pink plastic cake in the beds he made for them on her floor. When every so often he would run in our room, out of breath from his own excitement, and proclaim, We're eating in the crib, aren't we?!! Then he was gone as quick as he'd appeared. The other frequently overheard sound, which didn't require attentive listening, was a blood-curdling scream at an octave so high it should be outlawed, occurring whenever he thought she was going to leave the room and stop playing with him; n-OOOOOOOOO! Madalyn, n-OOOOOO!
If witnessed by a casting crew, the child would be an instant pick for a horror film with lungs and emotions like these. Makes me think on that Father of the Bride line when Steve Martin says to the son-in-law-to-be something like "the good news is that the over-reacting seems to decrease with each generation, so there's a good chance your children will be normal." I hope so.
Because this pattern went on for a half hour or more. The pattern that went like this: 1) Evan runs into our room to announce with great satisfaction and joy things like we're eating in the crib and Madalyn wanted the fan on!!!! or Madalyn's playing with me!!! which was followed by 2) a screeching noise like the flying birds on Lord of the Rings echoing from his room for fear that she was leaving him again, and then 3) he runs back in to let us know all is well again, giving an excited report of exactly what sort of fun they are having that moment.
At one point he even pleaded with us, will you put the Veggie Tale music on in there so Madalyn won't leave? (Remember, she's our lady of rhythm, and so this wasn't a bad idea and we obliged to the pathetic request.)
But then it came at last. The moment when we heard the adamant all done, all done, all done! and could tell her small voice was leaving him, and rapidly approaching us.
This was followed by every window in the house shattering as Evan shrieked, MADALYN, nAH-OOOOO! like he'd been holding her from a cliff and her hand had just slipped.
Then there they both were in our room, with Madalyn frantically begging up up up up up in the hopes that I would lift her to the bed, out of his arms reach. This was the point when Evan gave up on his military approach and resorted to blatant bribes: do you want some ice cream, Hermie and ice cream, Madalyn? he asked with sugar-coated sweetness.
We promised him that when she got just a little bit older she'd be a lot more fun to play with... and she better be! It's just too painful to watch him run on this treadmill of emotions like a manic-depressed toddler. When he's up about her playing with him, he's UP. It's irresistibly charming and makes us all warm and fuzzy inside. But the other end of the spectrum? Pure misery. In fact, when I tucked him in that same night and we said prayers, Evan thanked God for Madalyn and I could almost hear my heart crack into two like when a tree falls.
"Yes! Thank You, God, for giving Evan a sister to play with," I said.
And Evan, (thinking about this,) added, "But when Madalyn leaves my room it makes me yell."
Translation: So could You do something about that, already?
Honesty with God. (And my thoughts exactly.) I love it. Priceless.
