This Morning: A trip to "our" farm to pick up milk and eggs. Our farmers were gone for the day lending an eerie hush to the place that made me uncomfortable. Silas chased chickens as I filled the cooler, narrating my actions to no one in particular in an attempt to impose my human presence. He protested loudly when I told him it was time to get back in the car, a sign, I think now, that I should have stayed in that quiet for a moment longer. Sat with that discomfort and thought about why I felt the need to tell the chickens what I was doing and to project such a cheery demeanor.
This Afternoon: Sorting though more books. Putting off (again) making the weekly menu. We've started a weekly music class on Friday mornings, which includes a CD of the songs we sing to play at home. Silas requests it no less than a half dozen times a day. He does so by performing the hand motions for whatever song it is that he hears in his mind and that he wants me to sing/play. He does the motions with such conviction and makes intense eye contact as if to say, "come on already, don't you get it?" I do, usually, until he tries out one he hasn't done before. Then I have to mentally go through the playlist to see which one he's attempting. It's a funny bit of communication. I tried to video tape him once while he was listening to music on the clock radio, but much like his parents, he's not a fan of being on camera. The clock radio by the bed is always tuned to the rock station and he totally jams to it; swaying back and forth, nodding in rhythm, and tapping out the beat on the table. He's a big fan of Metallica.