The girls bickered all morning. Grabbing, bossing, fussing. Ella took her mouse away from Clare which caused screaming the likes of which I have only heard from the deepest depths of anger. Clare was hurt and raw and unable to cope. Ella was unyielding. Unwilling to share, unable to see any other truth besides "this my mousey."
Nonetheless, I took them to play group hoping to provide a distraction. It looked pretty much like this:
Unable to be apart, unable to come together, they hovered in each others' space with jagged edges exposed. Tough stuff.
Naptime came, with badgering (and even then only for Ella), after an hour and a half.
So here I sit with this tiny, vulnerable, troubled, four year old fairy. Her wings look slightly dusty, her eyes darkened and sad. I asked her to draw a picture about how she feels. She didn't know what I meant. So I asked her if she'd had any feelings today. When she said she hadn't, I reminded her of her screaming fit and asked her to close her eyes and picture something in her head that showed that feeling. This is what she drew:
On the left is a cowboy on a horse. He and his horse are trying to knock off the cowboy and knock over the horse on the right. She feels like that cowboy and that horse.
Well said, little one. Bless your heart.
