You and the wizard

I recently started using 750words.com as a way to reconnect to my love of writing. I've really enjoyed using the site so far, and the story below is what came rushing out this morning. I love this entry so much because it shows my progression. I've been taking slow and deliberate steps towards reclaiming the things that make me happy. Creative pursuits, for the most part - art, scrap booking, drawing, writing. For me, this the culmination of a few things - writing and story telling; celebrating and capturing those small, wonderful and fleeting moments in our family; and scrap booking. I love it. It feels so good to be doing these things again. My intention when starting this blog was to chronicle my journey back to being more creative. The blog hasn't been witness to most of my movement towards this goal, but it has served as a reminder. It's been in the back of my head and having that has reminded me to stay on track. I love that I have this to not only include in Emily's scrapbook, in her story, but I have it to share as a part of my story.

You and the The Wizard

I wish our bathroom was big enough to accommodate a chair. Sitting on the toilet and feeling my butt go numb is my biggest complaint about giving you a bath. Otherwise, I love talking to you and seeing what little games you come up with. Sometimes you play tea party. Sometimes you swim or splash. But no matter what you do, you never grow tired of pouring water. You will scoop and pour and find every cup, measuring cup or toy and fill it with water again and again and again. We got you all of these cool toys, but the cups always win.

Our ritual is this: you get in the tub. You tell me the water is too hot, despite my best efforts at making it cool. You are just like me with that - I've never liked super hot baths. Ok, occasionally maybe, but as a general rule, warm is best. Once you get your tushy to sit down in the water (because you want to stand or kneel), you want your toys. You tell me which ones you want. Besides the cups, you want the tea cups, the tea pot, the walrus and boat. You want some letters and the white measuring cup. You want the stacking cups that never sit on the turtle's back. Sometimes you even want the turtle. You also want a wash cloth. Then you'll proceed to play, pour, try to stand up, laugh at me when I tell you to sit back down, and repeat it all again and again.

Finally, when your toes get pruny or you get tired of pouring, we wash your hair and wash your body and you hop out of the bath. Sometimes I wrap you in a frog towel. Sometimes it's a monster towel. Sometimes a bunny. But no matter what form you are wrapped in to after your bath, you need the wizard to turn you back into Emily.

I'm not sure how it started really. It was probably born from a bad night, a cranky kid and a mom (me) that was trying to distract you. I wrapped you up and found Heather, your mama, in the bedroom. I called her wizard and pleaded for her to help me find my girl. You, being the clever little girl that you are, totally jumped right into the game and assumed your role as the frog/monster/bunny.

At first, the wizard wasn't sure what to do. She didn't have much experience with little girls who took on other forms, but I helped the wizard along and soon enough the wizard was able to conjure her own spells to wave over you. Sometimes they even rhyme, which is rad.

The game always starts the same way - as I'm drying you off, you tell me that we have to find the wizard. I tell you ok, but first I have to dry your toes and your hair a little more. After I get you patted down as much as possible, which can be hard since you are busy morphing into the bunny/monster/frog, we go on our search to find the wizard.

"Wizard!" I shout, leaving the bathroom.

"Wizard!" You shout, giggling as you head into our room.

"Wizard, wizard - oh wizard! You have to help me! I lost Emily! She was getting out of the tub and she turned into a bunny/monster/frog! Help us, Wizard, help us!!" I cry setting the game off in dramatic form.

The wizard always takes a second to size you up as if she's trying to solve the world's greatest mystery. Then she looks at me with a suspicious eye and says, "How do you always lose Emily? How does this always happen?"

I respond and tell the wizard that I don't know what happens, but I need her help to find Emily again. By this point, you have climbed up on the bed with the biggest, silliest grin. You sometimes tell the wizard what form you have taken, but most of the time, you just wait to see what the wizard is going to do. The wizard has two steps to break the magic. First, she conjures a spell and waves her fingers over you. Then, she starts to tickle you. The tickling always works. An Emily foot will appear, and then I'll shout, "It's working wizard - your spell is working, there is an Emily foot!" The wizard keeps tickling. Then we hear Emily laughs and we celebrate those. Then a tummy might pop out, or a finger or a hand and soon enough you pop free of your towel completely and you are Emily again. You always tell us that the wizard saved you. You always tell us that you were a frog/bunny/monster and we always laugh and talk about that great wizard who always saves you while we are putting on your pj's.