Small Circles

So as not to forget, the boy's words...

Mama, I love you and papa so so so much,  I am going to be so sad when you die.  I love you both so much I'm going to plant lots and lots and lots of flowers when you die.

*thoughtful pause*

But who is going to plant flowers for me when I die?

Unfolding

Oh, Albie. 

I wrote a while back about how Albert was beginning to explore death and dying and love.  He's still there, dealing with some 6 year old fears, and deepening into love and connection.  Last night, as we were going to bed, the deep river of love started overflowing.  "Mama," he said, "I love you so so so much, I love you so much more than you love me."  I explained that I didn't think that was possible, that a mama's love is bigger than the universe, but no...  he assured me that his love was infinity.  Mine was only 100 googol.  As we turned off the light, and kissed papa goodnight, he got weepy with his love again.  In his most emotional voice he said, "I am so grateful that I have such a wonderful mama, and I am so grateful that I have such a wonderful papa."  I snuggled up and held him tight and told him that he was a gift, a precious gift in my life, and that I too was filled with gratitude. He replied, still with that weepy (he could win an oscar) voice, "I know.  I am a gift."  And then he began to name all the people in whose lives he was a gift:  "I am a gift to Abu, I am a gift to grandma and grandpa, I am a gift to Patti..."

He is always a character, no matter how precious the moment.

In this, the last year of his first cycle of seven, he is unfolding.  Really.  I feel as though I am witnessing the unfolding of consciousness, of connection, of vision.  There is sadness -- the innocence of babyhood is being left behind, or perhaps transforming into something different -- but the boyhood that is arriving, well, my heart swells.  I am seeing him more and more as a companion on the path --  this sense of: I know, I'm human too, there's so much, life is so big...  (Doesn't mean I don't nag him to eat his breakfast, this growing companionship status...)

There is something going on, and I am honored to be a witness to this child's growth, and I am honored that we can share the path for a while.

Two sides to every moon (sort of, not really.)

Bad news:  we have been denied for financial aid at the school we've applied to in Boulder for Albie.  Bummer, right? 

Good news:  apparently, we're rich!  Drinks on the house for everybody!  What a fabulous message from the universe...

Anti-piojo

School starts in a week, and I have it on good authority (I spoke with a giant roach) that the Lice cannot contain their excitement -- thinking of all the warm heads in which they will soon be nesting.  And while I do think that everyone and everything needs a nice home, I'd rather they not choose Albie's head.  So, today was haircut day....

Before...  I love that mop.  But I'm thinking those darn Lice would too.



After...  Now the Lice can tell that Albie is part elf, and they are sure to leave him alone!

Freedom, everybody

Last Friday was Albie's last day of school, the parents were invited in to celebrate, and the children were able to play one last time. 

It was very emotional -- thinking of Albie's struggles at the beginning of the year...  saying goodbye to parents and teachers who would not be returning...  Also, another opportunity to see that my child just really isn't like all the other children.  As we were about to go into the classroom, Albie had an upset with his dad, and well, the levee broke.  He was just so upset, didn't want to go into the classroom, didn't want to sit in his chair for "la ronda" -- he just could not be with it.  And of course, he was the only one...  I mean, it's not like the other kids weren't sad, it's just that Albie, well yeah, he was the only one who just couldn't participate.  He really goes inside himself...  really emotional and uncomfortable.  His teacher is wonderful, and neither she nor I forced anything on him, an soon enough he was playing and laughing and bossing around.   And this has been this way for as long as I can remember...  he is an observer, he stays a bit outside the circle.  Eventually, he warms up, and if you are lucky enough to be in his inner circle, he gets deeply attached.  We once did a music class when he was 2 or 3 -- and again, he was the only kid who didn't prance and sing and dance.  I pranced and sung and danced, trying to show him, "Wow!  Look how cool it is to participate!"  But no, he just sat and watched.  Happily, and with a smile, but watching nonetheless.  Remember the spring festival?  Or the bring show and tell wrapped in a box?

Not sure this means anything at all, just you know, knowing my child...  Want to help him feel ok opening his heart.  I had a laugh at myself when I remember a class here I took recently.  It was a class about gods and goddesses and archetypes and Jung over at the local fancy shmancy yoga center.  At the end of the class, the teacher passed around a "which goddess are you quiz."  Multiple choice, it was a way of discovering what drives you.  Just a little fun after a serious lecture.  Anyhow, I get the quiz, and it just drives me crazy.  I'm not sure if I'm answering from the truth about me, or what I'd like the truth to be at this point.  And i just can't complete the damn thing.  I figure, it's cool, I'm a bit Hestia, a bit Aphrodite...  this much I know.  So then, much to my embarrassment, the teacher proceeds to ask everyone in the room about their quizzes, and what they found out.  And wouldn't you know it, out of the 30-40 people in the room, I was the only one to say, "Uhh, I didn't do it."  Which probably says a lot more about me than filling out the quiz would have.  Like mother, like son?

Anyhow, shit, we were talking about the last day of school.  Here's some pics that Albie took:

 

 

It was another stupendous glimpse of my son in action, actually...  Albie had all his friends following his orders:  stand here, smile, make a funny face, get together, go here, go there, etc...  Parents had been trying and trying to get the kids together for group shots, but it was only Albie who was able to do so. 

Here's Albie saying, "Woohoo!  Summer vacation!"

 

And how's this for a mind bender for all you Northern Hemisphere-ites?  On the last day of school, beginning of summer vacation, we went shopping for a christmas tree.  And set it up -- lights, ornaments, garland. 

 

We have quickly transformed from freaks who eat at 6pm and sleep at 8pm into super cool Argentines who eat whenever and sleep whenever.  Today we woke up at 10.  Dinner at 8 will be an early dinner, we finally get to go out eat or gee whiz!  Order in!  We're living la vida loca. 

Opposite and allright

It is fully, beautifully, explosively, the peak of spring here in the city of Buenos Aires.  The pink and red trees are in full bloom, and it looks as if the purples will arrive this week.  The air almost smells fresh...  The streets once again have their green canopies, and the old men are half naked, sunning themselves in the plazas.  People are out, people are playing.

In spite of the feverish spring energy, last Friday we connected with our brethren up north, and celebrated Halloween.  For the first time in a long long long long time, I actually dressed up.  And it was fun by golly!  I think I looked quite good, though of course, I bow down before the original, because no one does Frida like Frida. 

Impermanence

On Sunday night, Albie fell asleep on me, his head on my heart, like he did when he was a mere lump of a human.   For the half hour previous to falling asleep, he experienced what I think was his first existential crisis.  While he has asked about death before, this time he was just sobbing and sobbing:

I don't want to die
I don't want to die

sobbing, sobbing

You know why I don't want to die?  Because I love you mama.

sobbing, sobbing

te quiero, te quiero

I want to live forever like the dirt.

Why do we die mama?  Why do we die?  Mama, do you like dying?
          (Well, I don't know if I like it or not, but I don't feel afraid...)

Mama don't die!  When you die I'll be so sad I'll cry every day, I know I will.

So bittersweet...  How could I not cry with him?  Yes, the dying part of living, in a very physical, material, here on this plane of existence kind of way, is sad.  But that somehow makes life beautiful too...  I could only be honest with him, that I really don't know, but I figure we come here to love and play and experience and then at some point, we're done.  But that what I see all around me is life - death - rebirth, cycles and cycles and circles and spirals...  But mostly, I held him, and let him express his sadness without adding too much.  And I resolved to myself to fiercely love him, and express nothing but love and compassion and generosity and joy because yes, the time to express ourselves in these bodies is just so short.

And then, the next day and the day after, I was impatient, got angry, was short, mistreated...  Oy vey.  Sometimes the gap between who I am, and who I'd like to be, seems grand canyon-ish in size.

“If you are consciously patient with people during the day, you will see more beauty.”

Huge developmental leaps

See, you don't have to sit down with children and do flash cards and stuff them full of information and knowledge.  Give them space, let them unfurl at their own pace.  On their own, they learn the mysteries of the universe and on their own, they find answers.  After a mere five and a half years of being, Albie has solved a great mystery, all on his own:

Albie says:  Mom.  Did you know that the stuff that's in your toes isn't cheese?

Leaving me:  Utterly flabbergasted, I cannot speak, I cannot answer him.

Albie says, and rolls his eyes at the same time because he is realizing that I'm just so thick, I couldn't possibly get it:  Mo-om.  It's the cotton fluff from your socks.

Only five and half.  Such profound realizations...  I cannot even begin to imagine what six will bring.

Monday

Albie and Papa made a list yesterday:  List for Tomorrow, it's called.

• Wake up really early to eat quinoa and then go to school
• say bye and hug and kiss my mom
• and then put my slippers on
• and then go and play
• and then clean up
• and then go to the bathroom
• and then have snack
• and then go to the patio
• and then go to the story
• go back into the class of my school
• and then my mom picks me up
• we go to the paper store
• get some clay and glue
• come back home
• have lunch
• and make a boat

Quite a full day for the little man.  I've been trying to take some video of him speaking Spanish, but every time I start filming, he stops talking.  The best times to catch him are when he has a friend over, and he's lost in play.  The other day, he and his friend were playing house, and he read her a bedtime story:  "Habia una vez un dinosaurio.  Se llamaba T. Rex.  Era el rey de los dinosaurios y es un carnívoro..."  As soon as I started filming, he got mad and sent me on my way.   I did manage to  conduct a little interview while he was playing space with another friend.  Not too much speaking, but well, fun to see nonetheless...  I love the look on his face when he tells me he can walk on the sun.

He's so bad

Albie has quite the little boy fixation with badness.  Or bad-assed-ness.  He's really drawn to the tough boys in his class, the one's that hit and use bad words.  He loves Dark Vader.  (Albie, it's Darth Vader.  No mom, it's dark, because he's dark.)  He'll play army and make sure to tell me he's on the bad guys' team.  He is just really curious about this play between good and bad -- and I guess he's exploring the bad side.  "I'm a super hero, but I'm a baaaaaaad super hero."

The other night, my brother came over to show off his new tatoo.  (Albie and I are also fixated with tattoos and Miami Ink -- a totally appropriate show for a Waldorf kid when he's sick, right?)  Albie tells us that if he were to get a tattoo, he would get a tattoo of Superman arresting a good guy.  Because, you know, Albie and Superman are on the bad guys' team. 

I pointed out to Chris and my brother that the really funny thing is that Albie is such a softie.  He's always been an instant cry-er, he's mortified if he gets hit by another child, he's teeny and skinny -- but there you have it -- he's on the bad guys team.  Mr. tough guy.  And then we had a great laugh at Albie's expense (he was asleep.)  Chris had us rolling when he pointed out that Albie doesn't even wipe his own ass -- how tough can he be?  And he's always crying for mama, mama, mama, quiero upa...  JP figured that maybe this was all a part of his tough guy game:  "Check this out guys," Albie would say to his fellow bad guy team members, "See this bitch?  I've got her wiping my ass!  And she puts on my shoes!  She cooks three meals a day for me and sometimes I fuck with her.  I whine, 'bitch, I'm not eating this food.  I don't like this food.'  Drives her crazy.  Then she spoon feeds me.  Ha!  Let's go arrest some good guys."

Here he is, practicing his bad guy moves...