An Afternoon with Alex

I invite anyone with nothing better to do to feel free, in the few remaining weeks of school, to come over and sit on the deck and watch the entertainment that is Alex's solitary play.

* * *

Now, Alex is the fifth child of a fifth child. Hopefully he will not, like his dad, end up as the fifth of eleven (I may have the same name of Sue Freivald the elder, but I am not out to rival Sue Freivald in the number of children department and would not survive trying to), but he is lovably likable like his dad and seems perfectly happy to keep himself occupied for long stretches of time. (I don't think, if he had books, coffee, and internet, Jake would ever feel he had enough alone time, and if Alex had dirt, a sippy cup, and some trains he'd feel the same.) I could go most of an afternoon without having to pay direct attention to Alex beyond giving him some food and helping him if he got stuck somewhere. And in the new yard, which is bordered by bushes and plants, he has found nooks and crannies galore to crawl into and play in. So I could walk out onto the deck and not see him at first glance, but it is almost inevitable that within ten seconds one would HEAR him--because Alex talks to himself and his toys and imaginary playmates, and he rarely does it quietly.

Today I had the privilege of witnessing the Gollum-esque scene of Alex playing the role of both himself and God (which maybe is anti-Gollum?) Alex was loudly calling out to someone, so I leaned over the deck railing and asked who he was talking to.

"Oh, God."

"God?"

"Oh, yeah, God. He said, 'Alex, that's too bumpy!' and I said 'What?' and God said, 'I said that's too bumpy!' and I said, 'Oh, OK!' "

With that, he went back to pushing the play shopping cart across the yard, and as soon as he started to move he yelled, "ALEX! HEY, ALEX!"

Stopped, and turned around. "What?"

Looked forwards again, and with hilarious hand motions indicating that he should slow down, said, "That's too bumpy."

Looks back: "Oh, OK, I'll slow it down, God."

Then starts pushing the cart and immediately starts back up with "ALEX! That's TOO BUMPY!"

* * *

A little while later, he had found the biggest pile of dusty dirt to lay in while he pushed his trains, and i felt a bit guilty that my 3-yr-old was off by himself for so long. I know, most people count this as a blessing, and I do, trust me (how else could I write this email?), but there's a difference between wishing kids who are always clamoring for your attention would quit and having a child who doesn't seem to need you for anything other than food during the very time of day when he could have you all to himself. I felt i should pay attention to him. So, before making the brownies for Bot's birthday tomorrow, I asked him if he wanted to make them with me, and he said no before he suddenly said yes. (Hmmm, sound familiar?) So, he ran in, I got him a chair, we washed hands, and it turns out he is meticulous with a scoop and measuring cup--spilled almost no sugar over the side of the cup as he scooped. I was so impressed, and made the mistake of feeling proud and overconfident with our co-baking venture. We got through one cup out of two-and-a-half cups of flour when the guy came to inspect for carpenter bees--he had come into the backyard, the dogs were barking, I had Duncan in my arms, didn't think twice about taking my leave from Alex to go let the guy in and shush the dogs.

Well, five minutes later I walked in to find Alex and the kitchen covered in flour, and a huge pile of it in the bowl, where a double brownie batch was at stake. "Mom, look! I made the brownies for you!" (His eyes look even bluer when the rest of him is covered in white.)

"Um, so you kind of did. Did you put more flour in the bowl?"

"Oh, yes, in the bowl, yes, I put the flour in there for the brownies!"

So I scooped out all the flour sitting on top of the rest of the batter (thanks goodness he hadn't started to stir) and measured three and half cups. I put two and half back in and mixed it up and put it in the trays and prayed (I don't have the eggs for another batch!) and gave him four chocolate chips for being such a great helper. I didn't even bother brushing him off yet, not if he was heading out to sit in the brown dust anyway, but I offered him a spoon with batter on it. Don't tell my other kids--they think kids can't have batter because one's stomach can't handle raw batter until adulthood (which is why Mom can eat it), and yes it had some raw egg, but I grew up on bites of batter and he was such the flour-covered image of Dennis the Menace that a Norman-Rockwell-period spoon of batter was absolutely called for.

Of course, this kid, who never gets messy when you watch him but managed to cover himself and an amazing number of square feet of the world around him with flour in five minutes behind my back, took the spoon delicately in one hand, pinky up and all, and held out the other prissily, with flour floating off of him and his blue shirt trying unsuccessfully to assert its real color, and said, "I need a napkin, please. This chocolate is messy."

Sue :)