I Am Love

Lately, Adam is really interested in collecting objects, touching them, looking at them closely, adding them to his collection -- rocks, teddy bears (which he talks to and names), dolls, pretty things, trophies belonging to the older children of our house. So of course, I'm at a stage where like any other parent, I have to teach Adam that he can't have everything he sees -- that some things do not belong to him but to other people. Other things have to be paid for and we can't have everything we want. Also, some things are just so plain delicate, that you can't touch them, but look at them only.

Of course, this has begun when I feel that I can parent him less than I want as I am recuperating in bed. As other family members seem to struggle in watching him or enabling him with his device (I recognize that for me it is natural and for others, they have to learn by doing -- which they are quite successfully), I am frustrated. And then it happens, curiousity has broken glass.

Smash.

It happens once. A small glass sculpture by Montreal artist Susan Edgerly lay in pieces on the floor.

"No Adam," I say. "You cannot touch the glass."

He goes and does something else and a half hour later, another splattering of glass tinkling like bells on my limestone floor brings me downstairs again.

"No, Adam." I say a little more firmly.

"Don't yell at him," says my mother-in-law. But I do not yell. I am as firm as I would be with any other child except that I bring Adam gently upstairs and pull out his device.

I write, "You cannot touch and break the glass. Why did you do that?"

"because touch is interesting," writes Adam. Indeed, he's been more curious than ever -- touching everything and soaking it all in that I hate to take experience away.

"Okay," I write, "it is interesting and glass is very pretty. But you cannot play with glass and break it. You cannot break it."

"You are hot," he writes.

"Does hot mean mad?"

"yes"

"I am mad because mommy told you once not to touch the glass and you did not listen to mommy."

"I silly joke on you."

He begins to feel bad and pouts.

"Why do you want to make a silly joke on mommy?"

"because I silly," he begins to whimper.

I write, "I love you and I want you to learn from mommy. So when mommy asks you not to touch something, I want you to listen to mommy."

He turns his head towards me and looks straight into my eyes and then writes "I am love."

Now what do you do with that?

(The glass has now been put away).