Possession

I saw a mouse late last night in my house. It could be the colder temperatures driving them into seek shelter.  It could also be the lure of neatly stashed food, under the futon against the wall, stored by M, the hoarder.  I discovered a row of neatly lined-up “treasures” there a few weeks ago and purged: a bowl of peanut butter and carrots, notebooks with drawings of goo-goos and cakes (see images), pens, stuffed animals, “tickets” (torn or cut pieces of scrap paper), and a half-eaten breakfast bar.  M claimed that these treasures were necessary there; she needed them, she used them, they were hers.  In moments of either stress or playfulness, she will run furiously to the futon and hurl herself underneath, emerging with a new item.  It must be hard to resist such treasures if you are either a small girl or a mouse.

She has many talents, this girl who collects and sorts.

Two colleagues told me stories on different days that made my heart sing.

She met one colleague in the hallway and pointed out to her hand-holding friend, “That is my mommy’s classroom and that is her friend, Jan.” She ran to Jan and gave her a big hug.  This is an enormous step for M because she had kept Jan at arm’s length for much of her yet-short life.

On another day, she was playing in the courtyard and Michel walked by.  M ran to him with an enormous grin and said, “Hello, Hello!” She knows Michel from some recent visits he made to our house and seeing him at school might be a bit out of context, but it is cool that she made the connection and made his day at the same time.

Advertisement