Katya, and Being Four

This morning, an artist name Katya came over for a visit. We spied her ad yesterday at the Farmer's Market. It wasn't the kind of thing I would usually respond to: Artist Seeks Temporary Space to Park Her RV until Return to Costa Rica; Will Need Electricity Source. But something about it drew me. Jon got excited about taking her up on the printed offer to exchange space for art. "We could have her do a mural in the courtyard. It could be of you, naked, holding strawberry blossoms above your head!"

As it turns out, she probably won't be camping in our driveway. A friend had called, offering her a vacant house as shelter. But I'm glad she came by, anyway. Katya has an interesting, intuitive, transformative attitude towards life. Plus, without her, I wouldn't have this story to tell. During her hour-long visit, she showed us pictures of her amazing surrealist artwork, and made suggestions for creating our own mural. For all appearances, Jubilee wasn't paying a bit of attention, as she toddled off in search of something to do. Just as Katya finished explaining how Zephyr could help with the mural, Jubilee came back, carrying a dry-erase board she had scribbled on, holding it up for our guest's approval. She blew us all away with her apparent understanding of the conversation, and her initiative to demonstrate that she, too, is an artist. When Katya needed to leave, Jubilee marched to the door, insisting on getting a tour of the RV before giving our guest the green light to depart. If Katya has time, she wants to come over and take some pictures of the kids. If we ever make it to Costa Rica, we will visit her there. Most likely, though, this was one of those brief encounters which resonate in such a profound, unforgettable way. I'm glad Katya exists, and I told her so.

When Kamy and I became friends, her granddaughter was four. I don't remember what specifically caused Kamy to comment, "I just don't get this four thing," but it's come to mind on a few occasions in the weeks since Zephyr's birthday. Most of the time, he is continuing to become more agreeable, independent, and knowledgeable, spouting creative observations like, "The esophagus is like a slide for your food!" apropos of nothing. Jon and I, of course, think he's incredibly bright. But there are times when his behavior is unusually and unreasonably difficult.

For example, we've been going to the Farmer's Market every Saturday since, oh, before his birth. It's one of our favorite family events. I don't know what the best part is: the baked goods, local produce, or the limitless and changing cast of characters we very much enjoy, both vendors and shoppers. Jon and I walk there, pushing the kids in the double stroller. We know biking would be faster, but we both look forward to it as a date to talk. It's always been a relatively easy and enjoyable excursion for all of us- until now. Yesterday, Zephyr was literally kicking and screaming in the stroller anytime we stopped to talk with anyone or make a purchase. He was sullen and uncommunicative when anyone tried to engage him in conversation. Not even kettle corn could appease him. What's going on? Is he angry about something? What was his hurry? As soon as we were on our way home, he was content again. If nothing else, it keeps me humble.

Jon and the kids are arriving home from the hardware store, so my blog time is up. Any insight into a four-year-old's perspective would be appreciated! Even if it's just to commiserate about unpleasant moments.