Wild Etta

For three days every week, Charlotte nannies for Oscar and Etta. Oscar and Etta are kind of magical, precocious, loving children. The kind you come across once in a lifetime and are so grateful for.

Oscar 4, is bright and questioning and endlessly compassionate. He’s thoughtful and knows how to take care of himself. For example on one afternoon Charlotte came into the living room to find Etta wearing all of the hats she could reach, dancing, screaming and sticking her tongue out; what we call “Wild Etta”. Oscar however, was pressed against the wall facing her with his dimpled hands covering his striking green-gold eyes.

 

“Oscar are you ok?” Asked Charlotte, worried for the little man allergic to the world.

Oscar uncovered his eyes and looked at her,

“It’s too funny.” He replied.

Charlotte smiled and her heart kicked around inside of her chest with love for these children. Of course she thought, as she remembered that sometimes when things were too much for him to process, mostly funny things, Oscar just took a little break by retreating behind his eyes. Smart, charming self care tactic.

 

Where Oscar was quiet and thoughtful, Etta 2, was…untamed. On the other side of her nestling, affectionate self was an endlessly entertaining and unpredictable gremlin.

With her brother in half-day school, Etta had free roam of the house, with Charlotte of course, until they left to pick him up. There would be breakfast, getting dressed and then play play play until naptime. Even naptime had it’s own perfect schedule. Once the hour started nearing Etta would grab Charlotte’s hand and motion to the stairs, where sleep happened. She would sleep undisturbed until she awoke calling “CHOTTI!”, ready for the afternoon.

 

On this particular day, Etta had gone down for her nap as usual and was sleeping soundly, as usual. As the time went on however, Charlotte noticed that Etta was having a remarkably quiet nap. No murmers, whimpers, soft singing. So she crept upstairs making sure not to step on the spot that always creaked too loudly. She listened outside the girl’s door – nothing.

 

“Etta are you –” She whispered as she slowly pushed open the door and her hand flew to her mouth to cover the loud gasp that escaped.

 

Between her and the crib were the following:

 

footy pyjamas including snap buttons

teddy bear

pacifier

stuffed bunny

afghan, blanket, sheet, under sheet – all from crib.

underpants

diaper

 

These items lead a jagged trail to the crib where Charlotte arrived just in time to see the naked Etta squatting and peeing onto the vinyl covered mattress. She was smiling a crooked grin.

 

“Wild Etta”

 

Charlotte only had a minute to stare in disbelief before she had to hurry to restore the balance in time to pick Oscar up from school. As she picked up the wildly distributed clothes and blankets she could not figure out how this 2 year old child managed to wrestle with bottom to top buttons, diaper Velcro, and a fitted sheet. She couldn’t get a clear image, much less ponder into what erupted in this little girl’s mind to make her take such drastic actions. Charlotte couldn’t guess if the pee was the end goal or just something that happened as a flourish.

Etta watched, nonplussed as her masterpiece was delicately dismantled and put back on her bed and body. When asked, she had no explanation for her actions and just answered

“Chotti!”

With that, Charlotte couldn’t help but smile as she swept up the goblin princess into a tickly embrace and hurried to get Oscar. Or as Etta called him – Osky.

Brownies

I wrote this before xmas but hadn’t posted…

Already a little high from licking the spoon of my first batch of gluten free pot brownies. I have been listening to Joanna Newsom for hours and I think now I might know her personally. It’s possible that I have never understood her lyrics more than in this moment. Every morning I wake up and, depending on how my body feels, launch into one of two thought streams. If I wake up feeling rested and able bodied I want to write, craft, clean, work and everything imaginable before the pain seeps back in. Often, immobilized by anxiety I spend most of the day thinkfretstaring into space worried that I am a perpetual time waster. If I wake up and am plagued my pain and fatigue I, again, lie in bed or stare elsewhere lamenting that I don’t have a way to cope with these moments and that today is a day when nothing I want to do will get done.

It’s funny, I wake up every day with something in my head to write. But I am in such a constant state of stress (mind and body) that I can’t free myself up enough to do it. But it’s all I ever want to do. That and craft and cook. Hence: yesterday I made fimo representations of my friends and started a new quilt project; today I cleaned thoroughly and have been baking for some time. It’s like I can’t calm myself down enough to sit and start on a blank sheet of paper. My hands/body can’t be still. Rather, I have little practice at doing one task at a time. If I am going to knit or sew I have to be listening to or watching something, similarly I can’t really sit down to watch anything unless I can do something with my hands. I can’t even eat a meal without watch/read/listening. Perhaps it just takes a kind of practice that I don’t have patience for.