Boy, n.: a noise with dirt on it. ~Not Your Average Dictionary

If you see someone everyday for as many hours in a day as you possible can, you never notice the growth of the person. Than someone else sees the same person with great intervals between the first and recent visit, and one often remarks how the other has grown and changed. We say these things to old friends we seldom get to meet; to relatives that we meet at the yearly Christmas party; to enemies and ex-lovers alike. They've grown prettier and older. We've become quieter but bolder. Nothing and no one remains the same, if nothing but physically speaking.

Kimo has been taking advance math this 'semester'. It consists of a practical, whereby he counts even and odd numbered houses alternatively during a 10-15 minute walk about our neighbourhood. As we walk down the street, he chirps-shrieks, "Look Mama, it's House number 22; and what is the next house number? Oh, it's 24!". So far, no one has interrupted his learning session.

Coupled with this, Kimo is also learning the concept of negation in the English language. That there is a significant difference between "I can't" and "I don't want to". The former must be fused with some element of courtesy in Kimo's interpretation because he means the latter but says 'can't'. Then, he totally throws us off by saying "I can't go count house numbers", when he actually wants to go for his house number-counting walks. I believe if I chart his responses properly, I will get to see a pattern yet of his understanding of the concepts of "No" and "Yes". So, please keep an eye on a future post of the results on this one :)

Other than, Math and English, Kimo's ornithology class has yet to fully take off. We have labeled every black looking bird, 'magpie', so far. And because they've that brazen stare and dive-bomb people during Spring, they're mean old birds to me, and Kimo knows my position on that.

Two areas have developed rather nicely, I should say. One has to do with books; the other toilet-bound. On books, Kimo has come out of his 'mumbling-to-self' phase, and is once again reading out loud with gusto, with a little twist. He self-corrects, wait for my prompts and... dramatizes for effect with on-the-spot intonation, too! The bedtime story-teller gets a real entertainment :)

Toileting dramas are now a solid hit-and-miss affair. No more grimacing and nose-pinching stages and gingerly-holds on soiled undies. Personal hygiene is more keen to Kimo nowadays and any feeling other than clean is reported and removed.

Speaking of which, the clothing department is also on a self-help basis. Yes, the t-shirts are on the wrong side and pants are very Urkel, if you know what I mean. But knowing your dimensions are so important - where is top to bottom; side holes to middle; front to back.

The learning list goes on and on... I'm supposed to be stumped by one thing a day that my child does to show me that I do not know it all. So far, I have not been truly stumped yet. Perhaps, I just haven't been listening hard enough! When I do, you'd be the first to know it - that singular comment or question that had my brain freeze on the spot. That had my heart skipped a beat, to the awesome miracle in front of me.

There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child.
There are seven million. ~Walt Streightiff

I really need to poop when...

Kimo, imitating the black swan doing his leg-up glide across Lake Gininderra.

I realize that I have more time than I thought would be given me to finish this thesis aka dissertation proposal. But if I haven't been waffling away time, then I must have been making waffles in all my spare-time, because my precious days are quickly dissipating once again...

I confess I am such an agonizer! Different from a worry-wart, I don't fear what would or could happen, but I agonize over the details. Whether big or small, they're fantastical details that when in my imagination becomes life-sucking blood-thirsty monsters attempting to devoid the stem-life of my new-born ideas.

After some time, parading in my make-believe world up there, and alone, I start to stick my hand out for help. If someone can pull me out of my doldrums by just saying, "You called?", I'll be fine! That's because I am visible again to myself. Even as the mythical beasts fighting over my theories suddenly become afflicted by a mute-rendering, colour-fading, size-de-enhancing disease.

I am most helped by coffee, and I swear by this. A cup of coffee to face the task; another cup to unwind from it. So, in between cups, I attempt to live properly. Delving in and out of my topic and concepts and arguments, I sort out laundry, dishes, toys, meals, play, child and husband. Then, occasionally, I take a nap and plan for sleep! The former is extreme privilege and a good one measures up as a good afternoon coffee.

Writing is a solo task. Some friends went for a writers' retreat altogether by the beach recently. They swore up and down, but their soft chuckles belied the intensity of their musing together :) I don't know yet how a writing group and circle can help me, since I seem to enjoy this routine of being pulled by Godzilla into a dark and dank cafe, and being saved by illumination and the bell, mostly. But I have to try something once, right? Maybe having a body next to me as I battle wolves attempting to gnaw at my juicy ideas will jolt me to the reality that I cannot entertain this psycho-drama in my head for more than 10 minutes at a time! :)

Oh well, whatever it is, the coffee cannot stop; it must increase over time. Tangible life practices, such as sleep, must come higher up the schedule of priorities, and an investment into one of those sand-clocks would be interesting. Can I slay two-headed dragons under 1 minute? That could be my goal. But as I am on the low-ish end of the learning curve, make that 10 mins still :)