Ahh, Pumpkin. He continues to be delightful every day. And he’s not quite the same person he was in September; he has come a loooong way.
Today in the blocks corner he was with Raspberry and another girl, both of whom hate to put away the blocks, and move so slowly that it makes me crazy. They did much better than usual at cleanup time, but Pumpkin ROCKED. He was so mature, so independent, picking up blocks and putting them away in exactly the right places, doing it happily, doing it quickly….I was so proud of him. When we gathered on the carpet for story time I gave him a star on his hand for being so great at cleanup time, and he crowed. “Wow! Yay! I got a star! Whoo hoo!”
At writer’s workshop yesterday, however, he reminded me of his old self — the one who could not hold a conversation to save his life.
“What’s your story about, Pumpkin?”
“This is me. My mom hit me in the face.”
“She did? Was it an accident?” (There is no way his mom hit him in the face on purpose. Seriously.)
“No! She hit me in the face!” He was grinning as he said it. I replied, “That sounds like a very serious story. What else goes in the picture?”
Pumpkin didn’t answer, just forged ahead. Here follows his narrative, with the ellipses standing in for my weak, confused, useless responses.
“Here’s me. I hit her in the face! And my mom hit me in the face….And I didn’t get ice cream. But my dad did, he had ice cream….I didn’t get ice cream. There was a contest and I didn’t win. My dad had ice cream…Here’s my dad, here’s me. I had ice cream. There was a contest, but I didn’t win….But there was another contest, and then I’ll win….Here’s my mom, she has ice cream….Here’s my mom and my dad and me and we’re eating ice cream…And here’s the flag….And here’s the hot lava!”