August 20, 2014
Colette is teaching me all about emotional control (let's just say she has none). She is savage and fresh. There is no filter. She throws things across the room, shouts, wants to hit you and, most of the time, almost does. Her anger stirs up a physical response. I admire it all. I watch adults around me (and myself) and see and feel inoperative anger informing all kinds of behavior, but nobody just lets it out like a 2-year old.
This one is at her zenith, it seems – she is bursting with her own charm, even when she is detonating it. Xavier and I have these moments of exchanging pure mirth experiencing her. She is constantly revealing the world around her – not just reacting to it.
She has an imaginary friend: Bindia (we will have to consult Colette on the spelling of that, when she can spell). She talks about Bindia and updates us on her location at any given moment. I asked her about a scrape on her knee, Bindia is the culprit. Sometimes when Colette doesn’t want to do something, Bindia is the reason because Bindia doesn’t like doing that thing. I think having imaginary friends is a good sign. Ripe creativity.
She is still an effective self-soother. Addressing fears:
Colette: "There are no goats in our house, mama."
Colette: "They are at the farm."
Later - in the bath - where we have a picture of Charlie Chaplin hanging on the wall...
Colette: "Mr. Chaplin is not scared of goats."
Me: "That's a good point, Colette."
Other quotable quotes lately:
(Rubbing her tummy after gagging) “Something is going on with me. My tummy is so brave.”
“Scoot away. I need some space mama.”
“Where my are?” while hiding in bath bubbles (Meaning, “where am I?”)
“I’m your mommy” (While encircling my neck in her chubby grip, comforting me)
(“I’m your papa” or “I’m your Claire,” depending on who is in need of comfort)
“Pren your douche, papa.” (Take your shower, papa with American accent, verb conjugation)
August 19, 2014
Those who come to the community garden, located (conveniently) at the church across the street, call it an "oasis." I find the description apt because when we walk through the gates and into the grounds of the church - Colette runs off enveloped in a giggle - we no longer feel like we are in Harlem or NYC. Marguerite was delighted to be a "member" of the garden while she was here - Claire, our nanny is a regular - and Romy's kicks are full of punch in the carrier when we mosey over there.