He positioned the small wagon shaped like a school bus next to the brick flower boxes that surround the front porch and stepped up on top of the handle resting over it. “This is a stool.” he said. His hands were resting on the bricks and he shouted, “Hellooooo!” in the direction of the neighbors house. He's hoping our neighbors grandson is over there and not at school.
The wheels shimmied under him and I gasped, “Get off of that! You‘re going to fall. That‘s not for standing on. It‘s not a stool.”
“You get off! You will fall! You will crack your head! You will break your hair and crack your head and be a crack head and go to the doctor!” His tiny perfect face was scrunched up in anger. “Go to the doctor!” he repeated and turned away to kick at the bricks with his foot.
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“The girls are not here. We got to get in the car and drive to them and find them and talk to them. The girls are at school. We got to drive there and see them. The girls are not heeeeeere. We got to talk to them and drive to them. I want to ride my bike to the school. Pleaaase. I want to ride my bike to school pleaaaase. Are you sure I will ride my bike? Are you sure? Can I ride my bike to the school?”
“No.”
“OOOOOOH! I want to ride my bike to the school! I want to drive to the schoooool! Mom! I want to drive to the school!”
“We can’t do that. They’re busy learning.”
“I want to go to Calli and Isabelle!!!!”
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“Thatcher. I had sewing I was working on here. You need to put it back.”
“I can’t.”
“Thatcher. There’s a needle attached to that fabric. You picked it up and you threw it. You were angry. Now you need to find it and pick it up so it doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“I can’t find it.”
“You need to look for it.”
“I can’t. I can’t find it.”
“You’re not going to find it unless you look for it.”
“I can’t find it.”
“Look for it.”
“YOU DO IT! You look for it and you find it! I am too angry!”
September 3, 2009
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