(nearly) four and a half.

M called, and we had a brief chat- when will you be home, should we go here, have you eaten- and I turn back around to tell Willow that m would be home soon. She pops up next to the mysterious berry bearing vine growing over the neighbors fence, and straight away I can see her parts of her face have are red.
"Willow... Have you tried to paint your face with those berries?"
Willow shakes her head, guilt written all over face.
"Have you been... painting?"
Willow again shakes her head. The guilt has been replaced with a look of discomfort.
"Then... Why is there red all over your face?"
Willow doesn't answer. The look of discomfort has been replaced by a look of misery.
"Willow, tell me. Did you rub those berries in your face? In your eyes?"
"Its stinging my eyes!" Willow wails. I bundled her off, and a shower later and her eyeball isn't even red.
I'd given her a brief warning on I don't know what this plant is, don't eat it, ok? But I never specifically warned her off rubbing it in her eye. I mean, why would I when she's never been the child who rubs food everywhere?

Willow made herself a sandwich all by herself the other day. She used her kitchen stool to get bread and jam and a knife to spread it all. Then she cleaned up- I don't know what happened, but the tea towel was covered in jam. But she still cleaned up. So, there's that. She was very proud of herself.

After her bath I gave Willow a little talk about the importance of not touching the freshly painted walls. When she came out to the kitchen, m also gave her a lecture on these walls are freshly painted, don't touch them. Willow nodded. Then she turned to look at the freshly painted wall... And touched it.
God give me strength, m prayed, once he finished howling why would you do that? WHY? that is.
The howling went on for a while.

At the shops Willow wanted to bring a chair down from a display while we waited for m. I was tired, sore and snappy. I grumpily told her no, stop it, stop asking, my back is sore, leave me alone, that no is final.
After being meanly told no, willow thoughtfully looked at me.
"Mummy, do you want me to rub your back?" She kindly asked. She then climbed behind me to rub my back. There, does that feel better mummy? 

Willow comes into my room.

"Mummy, can I have a wet cloth?"
"Why?"
"Because I want to help you out by cleaning my walls," she says. I stare at her. 

"Uh huh," I eventually say. She starts to look guilty.

"Oh please mummy. Just get me a cloth?" Willow begs. I continue to eyeball her.

"You want to clean your walls." 

"Just... don't go into my room, ok?" Willow blurts. I get up. Willow is in full panic mode now.
"There's nothing to see in my room! Don't go in!" She attempts to hold the door shut. I push the door open. She's drawn over the walls in purple chalk. Willow, in the past, has been absolutely skinned alive for the crime of drawing on the walls or tiles in our last place. She knows that it's an absolute hanging offence, and one of the few crimes she can commit that will get a furious scolding from mummy and M. But now? Her walls are getting repainted after all, and this is our own place. We don't have rental inspections. Drawing on the walls isn't the war crime it once was.

I choose to tell her none of this. I quietly study the wall while Willow flutters around in a panic. I find I honestly don't care. I mean, it's chalk. Secondly, her walls are pretty badly dinged up anyway- there are repair patches on it, and we are going to repaint it soon enough. She could have drawn in permanent marker, and I wouldn't have cared about the extra mark's on the wall. I do, however, care that she knows she's not supposed to draw on the walls, but she still did. I care that I asked her to do something different in her room (tidy up) and she's gone and done this instead. 

So, I tell her I will get her a damp cloth. But she has to tidy up her room first... and quickly, before M get's home. 

Willow's relationship with M fascinates me. It's him she looks for when she wakes in the morning, it's him she misses when she's away from us. It's me she calls for in the night, but in the daylight, she worships the ground he walks on. She also lives in terror of his disapproval- getting in serious trouble with M is many times worse than getting into trouble with mum. Willow bursts into tears. I can't possibly tidy up before M get's home, she sobs. I tell her standing there crying won't get her room tidy. She begins running around in a panic, tidying up. She gets it down, I wipe it down while she anxiously points out all the bits that I missed, and that's the end of that.

Willow is peering into the pantry.
"Mummy, can I have fairy bread?" She asks.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because its no good for you."
"But I really want it and you said I can have some next week, why not now?"
"I don't have the ingredients for it."
"Can I have toast then?"
"I guess."
"Well mummy. If I can have toast... We have bread. We have butter. And we have sprinkles in the cupboard..."

Willow is now at the age of wanting to join in our conversations. She laughs at our jokes, even though most of them would totally go over her head, and she tries to add to the conversation in any way that she can. M is driving through Sydney- somewhere between Redfern/ Alexandria, when we spy some run down terrace homes down a side street. They're not that well maintained, and look pretty bad. However, location, location, location. We begin to speculate on how much they would cost- easily over a million?
"I think they would be $10," Willow airy informs us.

4 and a half. Sometimes I am suprised and touched by her intelligence and thoughtfulness. Other times I'm surprised by the short sightedness of some of her decisions. 4 has been a fun year.