Daniel asked me to buy him a diary. Well, actually, he asked me to buy him a composition book. The black and white ones that we used to use in English class in high school. Turns out, now they come in blue and orange and crazy hounds-tooth check pattern. Daniel choose blue.
This afternoon, I picked him and his brother up from school. They had started writing their own Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Daniel dictates and illustrates. Robert writes.
I tried to sound nonchalant about the whole thing. When I get really excited about a project I can become overwhelming. Then Daniel usually gives it up. I fear that I inadvertently put too much pressure on him.
Secretly, I am thrilled. Thrilled at the prospect of reading about the world from Daniel’s point of view. Thrilled that he is even a teeny-tiny bit interested in writing. Thrilled that he is self-starting a project, any project that is not a video game or video game related.
This project comes at a very important moment for me. The last month or so have been progressively harder for me. A large part of the struggle is simply circumstances surrounding our home and my husband’s employment that have nothing to do with Daniel. However, Daniel has been difficult too. My strained emotions and mental and physical stamina has aggravated the situation.
Daniel and I seem to be in almost constant conflict. Something as simple as explaining the way the A/C-Heater in my car works escalates to Daniel in tears and steam billowing from my ears.
My mom always saw the magic in her children. She could see it without much effort. It was always there for her. I wish I had her gift. I can often see what to do but have to consciously look for the magic to inspire me as a mother. When Daniel read his opening paragraphs in the car on the way home that magic spark glowed for me.