Rem

Rem embodies a vast array of imaginary characters. He enjoys switching personalities, too. He will slip his little Fred Flintstone feet into a pair of my shoes and declare that he is Mommy. A pudgy finger then points my way and he pronounces me Rem. If there is a stick or a hose wand nearby he will become King Max and stomp around mischievously like the boy in the book. A foam sword immediately changes him into a pirate, more specifically Captain Hook. He’s taken a great liking to little Sal from another favorite bedtime story and while he typically prefers her as a companion, sometimes he IS little Sal instead, especially if there are some rocks (blueberries) that he can throw into a pail (anything within a five foot radius). An odd television character, a bald boy of about four who is apparently very naughty is another favorite if there is someone around to narrate his activities. “Caillou is jumping on Mommy’s bed. Mommy doesn’t like Caillou to jump on her bed. Mommy doesn’t like it when Caillou hits his Mommy. Mommy is very sad that Caillou laughs at her when she is fussing him.”

Lately he has been Cinderella. He likes a long cape; his yellow baby blanket suits him if someone ties it in a knot around his neck. And he needs a partner to dance with so that he can flip the cape this way and that and twirl so that it flares out before settling back onto his shoulders. He even dances on his tip toes as if he can feel the glass slippers under his feet. Although they introduced Rem to Cinderella his sisters are disturbed by this latest impersonation. They try to call him Sir Drella but he doesn’t like it and insists on the Cinderella that everyone can plainly see he is.

My focus is to try to move these characters along, often because I am continuously a part of the set for these theatrics. Sometimes I am only required to stand there and be a tree. Other times I can get away with providing background music but having to enact lengthy scenes side by side with my little thespian gets laborious. “Bong, bong,” I start just as Cinderella arrives at the ball and Rem will run to his rocking horse in an effort to get home before the clock strikes twelve. I am Peter Pan when he is Captain Hook or vice versa. Sometimes Lise steps in. He likes to be called a codfish so more times than not he is the pirate. “Hiyah, hiyah,” he shouts as his sword swings my way. He now has a pair of dueling foam swords, weapons I would have previously declared banned from our home but now seem the safest choice since weaponry in the form of sticks and construction debris kept creeping in and putting us all in danger.

When Rem isn’t playing one imaginary role or another he becomes fiercely attached to his name. No endearments are acceptable: no “love” or “sweetheart” or” baby” or” my big boy”. Only Rem. “I’m Rem!” and with a swipe of the hand he shuns the sentimentality that I try to pour out.

(Lately, he’s decided to play peacemaker in our family. Essentially, he tries to keep me from correcting or fussing his sisters. He interrupts with relish my explanations of why beds have to be made or the importance of the completion of chores. He raises his voice above my own raised voice to say: “Stop it Mommy. Look, Lise is happy. Look, Imi is happy. Okay guys?” And in front of their pouting faces he looks up with the goofiest smile so that we all end up laughing. Of course the girls enjoy this hiatus from another lecture but I somehow feel cheated!)