Diary therapy

When Eden was born, her arrival was greeted with boundless joy... and soft toys. I'm not certain but I'd be willing to bet that she received more soft toys at birth than many children receive in a life time. Out of the countless soft toys that we laid at the foot of her cot, she chose one particular toy as her 'special' companion: Moo-Moo. Moo-Moo is a red and orange cow from Blossom Farm, which tinkles faintly when you shake it. Since Eden's earliest days, Moo-Moo has gone everywhere with her. At night time, it is only Moo-Moo who will do. Its tail is threadbare from constant fondling. The fabric washing instruction label is long gone. But last week, Eden's new teacher decided, after an incident in which Moo-Moo became temporarily mislaid in the classroom and Eden became temporarily hysterical, that it would be better if from now on, Moo-Moo stayed at home while Eden was in school. In order to help Eden deal with this potential trauma, her teacher has provided her with a home/school 'contact book', in which Eden is to record thoughts and stories about her day to be shared with Moo-Moo when she gets home. The two, A4 page-long eulogies that Eden has so far scribbled in this book will be treasured by Paul and me forever. They'd be 'lost in translation' if I transcribed them here. You have to read them in Eden's five-year-old, shaky, uncertain writing, and you kinda have to know her, too. But suffice to say they made us laugh and cry in almost equal measure. And it occured to me tonight as I was thinking about what I wanted to blog, that blogging is to me what that home/school contact book is for Eden. Both provide a kind of separation therapy using the written word. It's interesting just how much the act of writing in that simple green school exercise book is working for Eden. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose.