The small big boy!

Thambi is a whooping 4 years old. It happened some months back, of course, and owing to the pressure of time and then the distance of having crossed that threshold of time, I could not sit down and document that special day that was his, and the specialness that is him. But suffice it to say that he is now in full awareness of his age, and at times his age is big enough to license him to ask for some things, like going out to play on his own....with the words..

I am 4 years old Amma. I'm a big boy.


...with hands played out, a look of injustice writ all over his face. And then there are those times, when he will sufficiently play his age down and try to make me understand that being 4 is simply not enough. Like the time when I asked him to drive the car one morning!

Yes, I did ask him to do that. I told him, hey...I am tired today, YOU drive the car. And he looked at me, highly amused but seriously entertaining the question at the same time, demonstrating to me how he couldn't even reach the keys on the hook, so how would he drive Big Buddy car?

I am only 4 years old Amma. I am not a big boy, I am only small big.


So yes, age is just a number, which can be tweaked wherever needed to suit the situation. I think he's got it right. But recently, I discovered something he is apparently become old enough to do. And it amused me no end, when I saw the evidence of that action one day.

Another one of those busy mornings where I was working in the kitchen to pack lunches, and I grabbed hold of him that day, got down to eye level and asked him, very very nicely, to go upstairs, undress and get into the bath, by which time I would be upstairs. And his constant refrain these days is, a very eaggerated.........oooooooooookkkkkkayyyyyyyy! And he went upstairs, and busied himself and 10 minutes later I was there too and the rest of the process went on as usual. Once I got home after dropping him off to school, I went upstairs to make the beds and straighten up things and that's when I saw it. His near neatly folded pyjamas sitting daintily on the ironing table. It stopped me in my tracks. I remember telling him very clearly, to just take them off and leave them in the bed and I would get to them later, and I remember saying this with some exasperation, since he didn't know yet how to fold and put away his clothes, or so I assumed. But there it was, as near to being perfectly folded, as is possible from those little hands. The shirt laid on top of the pants and not on the bed like I had told him, but better still on the ironing table.

I pumped up with full blown pleasure at the sight and at the very thought of him in the act of doing it, carefully, precisely, thoughtfully and perfectly. It made me see him in a way that I had not really seen him until that point.....as a little boy, whose capacity and ability was growing, and not just as my baby whom I could always lift with one hand and cuddle and kiss and crush. When he came home I excitedly told him how happy my discovery made me and that I didn't know he knew how to fold and would he please show me how he did it again. And then, he pumped up with the pleasure of all my compliments and proceeded to shake out all the folds and laid them again on the floor, turning them this way and that, and then promptly curling it all up into a mock fold, which was still precise and still neat and still perfect, because he believed that he was doing it right! It was priceless!

Now, he takes great pleasure in folding in his clothes everyday and I take great pleasure to look towards the ironing board where I am sure to see the result of his efforts every morning. And life is simply beautiful with this small big boy that is a 4 year old!