Q & A with a Super Hero:
Morning Rhythm Walk
January 10, 2013
If it’s warm enough we will walk. Since this morning was 40 degrees on this dark, middle of January morning, we hit the road in darkness.
In silence, we head out the front door with our green glowing flashlight, hoods, hats and just light jackets. I can hear nothing but the rhythm of our steps syncing on the wet pavement, the occasional puddle splash, when the barrage of questions pierces our pattern like a dart.
As we round the corner about ¼ from our house it starts with conversation about the neighbor’s new baby.
“There’s a new baby girl in there,” says Jake, sort of like a question and sort of like a statement.
“Yes there is. J and T (parents) are very happy.”
“Is she brown?”
“Nope. Probably pink and white.”
“Is she going to look like H…?” (H is another little kid we know with big blue eyes and blonde curls)
“I don’t know honey. The new baby’s mommy and daddy have dark hair, I don’t think she’ll be blonde,” I answer matter of fact and hoping that ends this topic.
“Was I pink when I came out of your tummy?”
Sigh
“Honey, remember you didn’t come out of my tummy, but yes you were probably pink too.”
“Oh I was in birthmother’s tummy but she couldn’t take care of me,” he repeats the story as I’ve always told him.
“Yes, she was very young and beautiful.”
“Did I cry when I was born?”
“Well I’m sure you did.”
“Did it hurt to be borned?”
“I don’t know what it feels like to be born.”
“Did you pick me up in a little box?”
“No honey, you were wrapped up in a very pretty blanket.”
That was the end of it, I thought.
“I have a really great mommy and daddy now.”
I’ll take that and “yes you do. You are very blessed.”
The rhythm starts again. Step, step, st, step, ep, step.
As we approach the house with the huge dog that barks, Jake amps up his march! Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp. He likes to make noise by this house because he gets a huge kick out of the yelping yellow lab pawing at the window and barking from inside.
It took me a couple minutes to realize what he was doing, just in time, thank goodness.
“Dude, if someone walked past our house and made so much noise that Sammy woke up and started barking at 5am I would be super crabby mommy.”
“OK I’ll stop.”
I was quite impressed that I just told him that story and he knew I wanted him to stop stomping so loudly.
He quieted for a block and started up again. This time with an added humming bonus. It took him about 100 yards to settle into a good song (melody and rhythm) but his stomping increased again to provide a nice steady base drum beat.
“This is what my brain does when I’m supposed to be asleep,” he announced.
“Really?” I think back to how many times I’ve gone in his room at 3am to tell him to sing softer because he’s waking up the rest of us. “So your brain sings when it’s supposed to be sleeping?” I restated hoping for a clearer answer.
“Yes, it stops my eyes from going closed. My brain just keeps singing this song, over and over and over when I’m supposed to be asleeping.”
Stomp, Stomp, hum hum hum….
“So are you saying your brain keeps working all the time even at night?”
“Yes, when I go to bed and when I wake up, after I’m done with my dreaming.”
I continue walking alongside him, our steps and breathing syncing again as his beat doesn’t skip. I figured, if I can’t stop him, I may as well join him. So I started providing some percussion.
“pft pft tsst tsst pft pft tsst tsst,” I make the beat with my lips to fit between his steps.
He turns his head, glances at me, and I see the sides of his mouth draw up into a delighted little smile. He keeps stomping and humming, facing forward.
“pft pft tsst tsst pft pft tsst tsst”, stomp stomp st st stomp, hum hummmm hum.
Our little band proceeds walking down the road, no words are exchanged, and he reaches for my hand. My heart jumps as he squeezes my hand with his cold fingers.
1.7 miles later, we arrive at home, “I’m going to have a great day today, I feel calm already.”
SCORE.
Morning Rhythm Walk
January 10, 2013
If it’s warm enough we will walk. Since this morning was 40 degrees on this dark, middle of January morning, we hit the road in darkness.
In silence, we head out the front door with our green glowing flashlight, hoods, hats and just light jackets. I can hear nothing but the rhythm of our steps syncing on the wet pavement, the occasional puddle splash, when the barrage of questions pierces our pattern like a dart.
As we round the corner about ¼ from our house it starts with conversation about the neighbor’s new baby.
“There’s a new baby girl in there,” says Jake, sort of like a question and sort of like a statement.
“Yes there is. J and T (parents) are very happy.”
“Is she brown?”
“Nope. Probably pink and white.”
“Is she going to look like H…?” (H is another little kid we know with big blue eyes and blonde curls)
“I don’t know honey. The new baby’s mommy and daddy have dark hair, I don’t think she’ll be blonde,” I answer matter of fact and hoping that ends this topic.
“Was I pink when I came out of your tummy?”
Sigh
“Honey, remember you didn’t come out of my tummy, but yes you were probably pink too.”
“Oh I was in birthmother’s tummy but she couldn’t take care of me,” he repeats the story as I’ve always told him.
“Yes, she was very young and beautiful.”
“Did I cry when I was born?”
“Well I’m sure you did.”
“Did it hurt to be borned?”
“I don’t know what it feels like to be born.”
“Did you pick me up in a little box?”
“No honey, you were wrapped up in a very pretty blanket.”
That was the end of it, I thought.
“I have a really great mommy and daddy now.”
I’ll take that and “yes you do. You are very blessed.”
The rhythm starts again. Step, step, st, step, ep, step.
As we approach the house with the huge dog that barks, Jake amps up his march! Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp. He likes to make noise by this house because he gets a huge kick out of the yelping yellow lab pawing at the window and barking from inside.
It took me a couple minutes to realize what he was doing, just in time, thank goodness.
“Dude, if someone walked past our house and made so much noise that Sammy woke up and started barking at 5am I would be super crabby mommy.”
“OK I’ll stop.”
I was quite impressed that I just told him that story and he knew I wanted him to stop stomping so loudly.
He quieted for a block and started up again. This time with an added humming bonus. It took him about 100 yards to settle into a good song (melody and rhythm) but his stomping increased again to provide a nice steady base drum beat.
“This is what my brain does when I’m supposed to be asleep,” he announced.
“Really?” I think back to how many times I’ve gone in his room at 3am to tell him to sing softer because he’s waking up the rest of us. “So your brain sings when it’s supposed to be sleeping?” I restated hoping for a clearer answer.
“Yes, it stops my eyes from going closed. My brain just keeps singing this song, over and over and over when I’m supposed to be asleeping.”
Stomp, Stomp, hum hum hum….
“So are you saying your brain keeps working all the time even at night?”
“Yes, when I go to bed and when I wake up, after I’m done with my dreaming.”
I continue walking alongside him, our steps and breathing syncing again as his beat doesn’t skip. I figured, if I can’t stop him, I may as well join him. So I started providing some percussion.
“pft pft tsst tsst pft pft tsst tsst,” I make the beat with my lips to fit between his steps.
He turns his head, glances at me, and I see the sides of his mouth draw up into a delighted little smile. He keeps stomping and humming, facing forward.
“pft pft tsst tsst pft pft tsst tsst”, stomp stomp st st stomp, hum hummmm hum.
Our little band proceeds walking down the road, no words are exchanged, and he reaches for my hand. My heart jumps as he squeezes my hand with his cold fingers.
1.7 miles later, we arrive at home, “I’m going to have a great day today, I feel calm already.”
SCORE.
