I am struck by his acceptance of this repetition. I can’t decide yet if it’s just that everything is so new to him. Part of his activity is experimentation. He doesn’t have enough experience to know yet if this time will be different, if this time, the stuffed animal he throws in the air will just keep floating, like a bubble cast about on the breeze, rather than fall back to the ground as it has every other time he has tossed it. I know this is part of his process, but at times I think he also finds comfort in the iteration.

There is something serene about performing the same task over and over, without any immediate goal or intention. Like a zen garden. Some people find housework relaxing. Or mowing. That’s not my jam exactly, but I can see how they get there. Woodworking is probably more in my wheelhouse. Whittling. Taking an object and honing it, running it over with a knife or some other tool through a multitude of strokes. I think writing can be like that on occasion as well.

Not so much the idea generation and certainly not the editing, but the craft, the word play, when the sentences seem to meld together on their own and I cannot take much credit for the final product, those moments have a quality to them. Not a mindlessness exactly, but a disconnection. A feeling of letting the words pass over me or through me.

I like to believe this is Theo at play, exploring the new and embracing the familiar. I like to believe this is me at play too.

For Theo, almost all words are exciting and fresh. I can see the pleasure on his face as he sounds out a combination for the first time, the thrill of changing it into something else entirely or discovering that night doesn’t just rhyme with flight but also bite and kite.

It’s like he’s tasting a new food, trying out how a word feels in his mouth, deciding if it is pleasant or unpleasant.

I miss that discovery, the experience of a previously unknown sound or mashing together of syllables. It’s one reason I’m drawn to writing. But too often I manage to get stuck in my head, stuck on trying to explain an idea or convey complexity. I would do well to remember Theo’s fascination, his delight at saying Bartleby for the first time. Those surprises are still there if we make a point to look for them. As with so many lessons from Theo, this one is a reminder to not discount the power of play.

What words make you smile? Can you remember any that made an impact the first time you heard them?

Here are a few favorites off the top of my head: pulchritude, indigent, frivolous, parsnip, ogle.

The kid has some pretty great ideas. He made me think about the view through my office window, how often I wish I wasn’t separated from nature by my “need” to “work.” He reminded me that some of my favorite days in school were the, “you know what, it really is a nice day, let’s have class outside” days. And they were some of my favorites as a teacher as well.

Theo loves being outside. He craves the fresh air, the light, the possibility of encountering some new aspect of the world he’s never seen before. He knows what makes him happy and he wants to bring more of that into his day. I realized I should keep looking for ways to do that in my own life. I should be on the lookout for opportunities to shed a little sunlight where there is typically only florescent. I should pump some fresh air into my stale workspace. Or I should take advantage of the chance to work outside when I can.

Once again, my toddler is a Zen master.

Or, he just happened to be looking at the sky when he answered.

What is your sky? How can you find ways to bring it inside, or meet it outside?