"I am painting my milk"
May. 30th, 2014 11:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ikosaedr"Look daddy, I am painting my milk!" said Kitty. Paint brush in hand, she is smiling at the little cup of white liquid, where a blue blotch of watercolor is slowly spreading. That's a good one, I could just end the story there. But there is more to Kitty than just cute outbursts. There is also sadness, and fear, and quite a few tears.
Why is such a sweet little girl afraid? "Oh no, your milk is ruined!" We say. "Oh no!" she says, suddenly sad. Fun has ended. Earlier in the day, she was sad, a lot. She was sad because she was too afraid to go to the store with momma. She really wanted to go, but she was afraid. Of what? Perhaps of having another accident.
Ah, accidents. Childless people wonder, why do parents talk about such trivial and base things, like peeing your pants, with seriousness, gravity, even trepidation? It is because to children, small things are great. Their world is small, and their hearts are open, feeling everything. Recently Kitty learned about privacy. Now when she uses the potty she makes me leave the bathroom. Even if I need to be there, to watch Captain splash in the tub. Oh, and the reason parents say "potty" instead of a toilet, is becuase its a very serious matter to a kid, its a huge deal. The adult equivalent to learning to use the potty would be learning to eat ants and grasshoppers: something truly strange and a little gross.
So why is Kitty afraid? Because her heart is tender, and small things can be scary. She sees them in books - maybe we also talk about them ourselves? She is afraid to go far form the house. Is it because she is afraid of wetting herself? a parent is like a detective, piecing together the whole story from little fragments. The criminals hide from detectives on purpose; Kitties and Captains hide not on purpose, but just because their hearts are as of yet unexplored terrain, raw and wild, and neither themselves nor their parents know how to untangle the great mossy beard of emotions.
Painted milk is in the sink, and we are playing with puzzles. Another tiny, profound crisis is over. Tiny, like a wisp of cloud that shields the sun for a minute. Profound, like time suddenly stopping its run for an instant.
Why is such a sweet little girl afraid? "Oh no, your milk is ruined!" We say. "Oh no!" she says, suddenly sad. Fun has ended. Earlier in the day, she was sad, a lot. She was sad because she was too afraid to go to the store with momma. She really wanted to go, but she was afraid. Of what? Perhaps of having another accident.
Ah, accidents. Childless people wonder, why do parents talk about such trivial and base things, like peeing your pants, with seriousness, gravity, even trepidation? It is because to children, small things are great. Their world is small, and their hearts are open, feeling everything. Recently Kitty learned about privacy. Now when she uses the potty she makes me leave the bathroom. Even if I need to be there, to watch Captain splash in the tub. Oh, and the reason parents say "potty" instead of a toilet, is becuase its a very serious matter to a kid, its a huge deal. The adult equivalent to learning to use the potty would be learning to eat ants and grasshoppers: something truly strange and a little gross.
So why is Kitty afraid? Because her heart is tender, and small things can be scary. She sees them in books - maybe we also talk about them ourselves? She is afraid to go far form the house. Is it because she is afraid of wetting herself? a parent is like a detective, piecing together the whole story from little fragments. The criminals hide from detectives on purpose; Kitties and Captains hide not on purpose, but just because their hearts are as of yet unexplored terrain, raw and wild, and neither themselves nor their parents know how to untangle the great mossy beard of emotions.
Painted milk is in the sink, and we are playing with puzzles. Another tiny, profound crisis is over. Tiny, like a wisp of cloud that shields the sun for a minute. Profound, like time suddenly stopping its run for an instant.
