Progress

Ezra was grinning ear to ear when I picked him up from school after his chess club. I did not ask him how things went. I did not ask how many lessons he did or if he had a good day. I just said, "Hey Bear."

He wanted to go to Amah's house ("To FLYYYYYYYYY airplanes!") and since we had two hours to kill before the kids were due at their father's for dinner, I figured what-the-heck. On the way there, he regaled us with bizarre, cheerful tales that just bubbled out of him. At some point he offered to hose me down with his jetpack, which had tanks for sun, fire, and water. At some point, I decided that we should build a rocket out of all the junk that's lying around in my parent's garage.

We worked outside for an hour and got a decent start. He drew a control panel on the inside of a cardboard box, complete with buttons, dials, and a viewing window with a ringed planet, the digital caption of which read: "SADRN" (Saturn).

When he started to whine, get demanding, and otherwise freak out that the red-painted board wasn't standing up by the booster engines, I suggested we stash the fuselage materials on the porch so that the aliens who inhabited the planet wouldn't be able to find it, and go inside to think up more ideas for our rocket ship. This met with approval, mostly because I delivered the whole suggestion in a stage whisper while looking around furtively. We tiptoed around the backyard, gathering our supplies and running to hide them. Then we had to watch out the bathroom window for a while to make sure the aliens weren't going to find the rocket parts.

After that, we ravenously entered the kitchen. Isis was watching the Backyardigans with my mother in the living room, and Ezra made a bee-line for the water bottle. I pulled out tortilla chips and spinach-artichoke dip, which Ezra shoveled into his mouth without even asking what it was. Then we dipped tofu chicken nuggets in ranch dressing, chugged more water, and finally each ate a mini Cadbury egg to top it all off. The whole time, I just let him talk to me. The sun and physical labor outside had relaxed him, made him open and adventurous and ready to tell me about the new basketball court at recess, his Montessori time, and his friends. 

When it was time to leave, he didn't slouch or whine or protest. He just slipped his arms into his coat, kissed his grandparents, and bounced out the door. When I dropped him and Isis off to spend the night at Jason's, he ran back outside and gave me a huge, hard, extra-long hug, with strangling kisses and strong tight elbows. Fan-tastic.