View from the window...on the importance of being 3

 As I look out the window this morning it is snowing quietly, big fat flakes falling softly onto the deep blanket of snow which has changed the contours of the yard. There are snowbanks the size of which are now unusual in our winter experience here. It is so beautiful. Mesmerizing, calming; not isolating, but insulating.

You would never guess that this is yet another day, in a long series of strange and unforeseen days, that now stretch into yet another year of the same. A year  when a new vocabulary evolved; where 'bubble' is not followed by 'bath' and 'orange' and 'grey', at least in Ontario, are colours of a new significance.

Emotional balance is a daily struggle. Some days it feels like a tightrope, where you are just a breath away from a plummet. Some days it's more like you are driving along a road minding your own business, when you are clipped by a semi and end up grill down in the ditch.  Or there are those days when it is more like a teeter-totter ride, when your mood just won't level out at all. 

Our little corner of the world went from grey to orange last week which meant that a few more doors are open again. For me, it meant the gift of a little visit with my grandson who is three.

It is over thirty years since our sons were three, and time does soften the trauma of 'terrible twos' who do not suddenly turn into compliant threes. Being a grandma is such a completely different experience, and it occurred to me that there was much to be learned from three year olds.

The joy that I felt when I saw him was mirrored in his face; so precious. I expressed my love on my face, which he saw and reciprocated; such a simple, yet profound thing. It reminded me that something as simple as a genuine smile can be a gift of acknowledgement; 'I see you, and you are important'. Often that small moment of human exchange can make a significant in the the trajectory of someone's day and is so easy to give.

We spent some time getting reacquainted. He needs the reassurance that Grandma is the same and he still has a place in Grandma's house. I watch him and marvel (read 'mourn') at how he has grown since I saw him last. Today he approaches things by identifying shapes; triangle, circle, rectangle; fascinating. Then he goes to where the toys are at Grandma's house. I realize that this is will be a life-long habit. Maybe it is because the present is in the process of change, and the future might be a place we don't recognize, so we revisit the past; shared stories and experiences, beloved places that might be different but are recognizable. These reassure us of our place in the present, and as the past is set, it is comforting. 

We don our winter garb, all the pieces that triple the size of the wearer and make little people look like they have no bending parts. He is beyond excited to going for a walk. I put on his mittens endless times before I remember that boys and mittens are fundamentally incompatible, and this is for him just the funniest game. We meander around the block because three years don't walk as we know it. This is because every thing is fascinating and needs to be discovered;  snowflakes on your eyelashes, patterns on the road and on the tree bark, footprints in the snow. I watch him and hope that he never loses this wonder. I think about how important it is to walk slowly and notice all the small things. I hope that he will take every opportunity to learn and experience and that an awe of nature will help keep his life in balance.

Eating is still very much a tactile activity at three. Each shape and texture is explored. Crunchy things make satisfying noises. Apples are smiles. He is hungry so it is a quiet affair and he is engrossed. I watch and hope that he will always have enough to eat and always appreciate it. I hope that as he grows he will become aware that others go hungry and that this awareness will help to shape the man he becomes.

Grandma gets out a box of crayons and some paper. It becomes apparent that  the box is much more fascinating, and how the crayons fit in, and slide out of said box, needs much repetition to discover fully. And there is a thing made of triangles to hold the crayons. Amazing. Apparently today Grandma is to be the scribe and John the director, so he tells me what he would like drawn and what colour to use. He watches so intently and seriously. And then he goes back to the box. As I watch he I hope that he never loses this curiosity about how things work. I hope that should he not be artistic he will appreciate the artistry of others.

Then we snuggle and have 'cell phone time'. For my generation new technology is intimidating and needs to be approached cautiously. This three year old is bold, intrepid, unafraid. He wants our picture taken, then he wants to review the gallery of pictures and videos. The little fingers swipe at the speed of light to find his favorites; he has his and I have mine and we watch them all. I hold him close and watch him giggle at himself. I hope that these little moments of happy memory embed themselves deeply in him. I hope that he will always feel secure in himself and who he is.

At last Daddy said 'it's time to go'. That small beloved face fell, then burrowed itself in my shoulder. I hugged him so tightly. This was not an act of defiance, but a moment of seeking reassurance. An 'I am sad' moment, and who better to share that with than the person who feels the same way. A hug, a whisper of love, a reassurance that his feeling is shared and understood. then we do what we have to so that comings and goings are understood as part of life and not to be feared. So very important, not just now, in this time, but always.

I hope that I can carry with me some of the best things about being three. I hope that John will carry with him the certainty that Grandma will always, always love him.