So again, we are walking (this is what I love about living in the center of a city... lots of walking, using the bike... forgetting the car...). We are walking home from school, from the metro which is about a 10 minute walk from our house. Along the boulevards that circle the city, are large trees. Right now, they are carrying lights from the advent season (see previous post!) but are not lit up.
Abigail looks around as she walks. She thinks. And, of course, she asks many questions.
This time it was, 'How will they get the leaves back on the trees?' So this question is of that 'cute and cuddly' five year-old kind. The innocence of naivete, the questioning of how this season thing works. Abigail remembers the leaves, and she particularly remembers them falling and leaving piles all around the city, including our backyard. And they are gone... and... they will come back... and she knows this.
It is the process that is unclear, but as she fills in the blanks of seasonal renewal, I am sure many other blanks are being filled in and we just don't know it.
Isn't cognition cool?
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Why are the Christmas lights still up?
In Toulouse, they hang lovely lights all over town. These lights change between neighborhoods, and one can see a definite style as well as well-thought out design in all of them.
The Christmas lights really, well, light up the town during the season. In Europe the Winters can be soooo dark... and we aren't even that far North compared to many countries! So these lights are a blessing.
So today, as we walked Abigail's big sister to her chorale class, Abigail said, 'Why are the Christmas lights still up?'
Christmas is over. You can't mistake it. Our tree is gone. And Abigail has used all her presents at least once. Her favorites are emerging (a set of Hello Kitty stamps from a former babysitter is the most precious right now). She has few chocolates left from her stocking. So... indeed, why are the lights up? Time to move on, folks!
This would have just left me ruminating on the rapidity of the season if it wasn't only about 20 minutes later when she and I were on our own she queried another, 'Why did they leave that broccoli bush lying on the street?' This was in reference to someone's tossed Christmas tree which didn't resemble a Christmas tree much anymore, besides being quite small it had few needles... ah, Abigail.
It is another French (or perhaps just Toulousain?) tradition: tossing your Christmas trees onto the sidewalk after the holidays are done. That's what that broccoli bush was doing there.
The Christmas lights really, well, light up the town during the season. In Europe the Winters can be soooo dark... and we aren't even that far North compared to many countries! So these lights are a blessing.
So today, as we walked Abigail's big sister to her chorale class, Abigail said, 'Why are the Christmas lights still up?'
Christmas is over. You can't mistake it. Our tree is gone. And Abigail has used all her presents at least once. Her favorites are emerging (a set of Hello Kitty stamps from a former babysitter is the most precious right now). She has few chocolates left from her stocking. So... indeed, why are the lights up? Time to move on, folks!
This would have just left me ruminating on the rapidity of the season if it wasn't only about 20 minutes later when she and I were on our own she queried another, 'Why did they leave that broccoli bush lying on the street?' This was in reference to someone's tossed Christmas tree which didn't resemble a Christmas tree much anymore, besides being quite small it had few needles... ah, Abigail.
It is another French (or perhaps just Toulousain?) tradition: tossing your Christmas trees onto the sidewalk after the holidays are done. That's what that broccoli bush was doing there.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
2011 -- The year of the metaphor?
Well, it was just before 2011 started, that Abigail demonstrated a new ability in addition to her amazing question-posing capacity.
The metaphor.
I was driving Abigail and her sister to school. I do not often have this privilege because my work often requires me to start quite early and so taking them to school often falls to their father. But when he, the traveling scientist, is not in town, it falls to me or our child-care person to do it. On this particular day, I had chosen the car, even though I prefer the metro (28 years living in California pretty much destroyed any love affair I could have with cars).
"Mommy," began Abigail, "The car is like, like, a BIG suitcase. You see? We pack it full of things, we pack it with us, and then we take it to where we are going. It's just a big suitcase."
Yes indeed, Abigail. And what does a five-year old know about suitcases? Well... a lot. In 2010 Abigail visited Paris three times, Iceland, and the United States. This in addition to regular trips to our country house in the Ariege. And this was a relatively quiet year for travel for her and the rest of us. So Abigail knows suitcases.
And, Abigail sees clearly how the car resembles a suitcase.
More to come, dear follower(s). More questions, more metaphors, and perhaps even more we hadn't even thought about awaits us in 2011 with Abigail.
Stay tuned.
The metaphor.
I was driving Abigail and her sister to school. I do not often have this privilege because my work often requires me to start quite early and so taking them to school often falls to their father. But when he, the traveling scientist, is not in town, it falls to me or our child-care person to do it. On this particular day, I had chosen the car, even though I prefer the metro (28 years living in California pretty much destroyed any love affair I could have with cars).
"Mommy," began Abigail, "The car is like, like, a BIG suitcase. You see? We pack it full of things, we pack it with us, and then we take it to where we are going. It's just a big suitcase."
Yes indeed, Abigail. And what does a five-year old know about suitcases? Well... a lot. In 2010 Abigail visited Paris three times, Iceland, and the United States. This in addition to regular trips to our country house in the Ariege. And this was a relatively quiet year for travel for her and the rest of us. So Abigail knows suitcases.
And, Abigail sees clearly how the car resembles a suitcase.
More to come, dear follower(s). More questions, more metaphors, and perhaps even more we hadn't even thought about awaits us in 2011 with Abigail.
Stay tuned.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Death and Compost
It all started with a fairly innocent trip to the Insectarium in New Orleans on our recent trip to the US. My girls aren't 'afraid' of 'bugs' and really seem to understand the need to protect spiders. So I didn't think that this trip was incompatible with their interests and never thought it could be the source of anxiety.
Indeed, they mostly found many things to be interested in, and were fascinated by many of the interesting and compelling exhibits proposed by the Insectarium.
One exhibit, has the visitors go through a dark room and visit small presentations showing how things work underground, what worms are for, etc. Towards the end of this exhibit is a short (less than a minute) film showing a dead mouse and how s/he is 'managed' by various insects and worms to, ultimately, decompose and the film ends showing grass growing in its place.
Abigail was mesmerized. She silently watched the film at least four times and we encouraged her to move on. She was having none of it. The questions blurted out, 'How did that mouse die?', 'Why did the bugs do that?', 'What happens when we die?', and on and on, so fast we couldn't even respond, and it ended with the mournful, 'I don't want to die and become compost!'
Of course you don't.
Well, it opened up a large number of questions about death, about what happens after death, how all animals, humans, insects... all living beings die, and, well, turn to compost. The question has revisited us from time to time, and aside from commenting that she doesn't want to die, Abigail mentions that she doesn't want me, her father, her sisters or any other number of loved ones to die, either.
What is particularly moving about her questions is that Abigail really seems to 'get' the finality of death. Most children are interested in the phenomenon, but she is clear on the concept that people don't come back. A previous post dealt with the death of our beloved dog, Zoe. Abigail realized that Zoe was gone and not coming back, but until seeing this short film, I doubt that it occurred to her what death meant. Now she has a more keen sense.
And as we, her parents and older sister, listen to her question the need to die, express the desire not to die, we are unable to comfort her. We can't tell her it won't happen. We do mention that it shouldn't happen for a long time, but this scale of time is as yet too abstract a concept for her. Most importantly, Abigail seems to more keenly feel the reality than the rest of us. It can be seen in her eyes, why is she so upset and why aren't we as freaked out as her... indeed, why not?
I guess, and this she wouldn't understand yet, if we spend our time freaking out about death, it is going to be pretty hard to enjoy living. At least Abigail has the limited attention of all five year-olds: she doesn't dwell on this and seems to forget the whole thing for long periods of time. I have no doubt, though, that this will be a subject of questions and conversation for a long, long time.
Indeed, they mostly found many things to be interested in, and were fascinated by many of the interesting and compelling exhibits proposed by the Insectarium.
One exhibit, has the visitors go through a dark room and visit small presentations showing how things work underground, what worms are for, etc. Towards the end of this exhibit is a short (less than a minute) film showing a dead mouse and how s/he is 'managed' by various insects and worms to, ultimately, decompose and the film ends showing grass growing in its place.
Abigail was mesmerized. She silently watched the film at least four times and we encouraged her to move on. She was having none of it. The questions blurted out, 'How did that mouse die?', 'Why did the bugs do that?', 'What happens when we die?', and on and on, so fast we couldn't even respond, and it ended with the mournful, 'I don't want to die and become compost!'
Of course you don't.
Well, it opened up a large number of questions about death, about what happens after death, how all animals, humans, insects... all living beings die, and, well, turn to compost. The question has revisited us from time to time, and aside from commenting that she doesn't want to die, Abigail mentions that she doesn't want me, her father, her sisters or any other number of loved ones to die, either.
What is particularly moving about her questions is that Abigail really seems to 'get' the finality of death. Most children are interested in the phenomenon, but she is clear on the concept that people don't come back. A previous post dealt with the death of our beloved dog, Zoe. Abigail realized that Zoe was gone and not coming back, but until seeing this short film, I doubt that it occurred to her what death meant. Now she has a more keen sense.
And as we, her parents and older sister, listen to her question the need to die, express the desire not to die, we are unable to comfort her. We can't tell her it won't happen. We do mention that it shouldn't happen for a long time, but this scale of time is as yet too abstract a concept for her. Most importantly, Abigail seems to more keenly feel the reality than the rest of us. It can be seen in her eyes, why is she so upset and why aren't we as freaked out as her... indeed, why not?
I guess, and this she wouldn't understand yet, if we spend our time freaking out about death, it is going to be pretty hard to enjoy living. At least Abigail has the limited attention of all five year-olds: she doesn't dwell on this and seems to forget the whole thing for long periods of time. I have no doubt, though, that this will be a subject of questions and conversation for a long, long time.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Rats!
Why do rats have tails?
Abigail asked her sister, Emily, this while they were playing with Emily's rats, Lily and Rose.
Ever the budding pedagogue, Emily answered, 'Well, Abigail' (this is usually how Emily starts), 'Rats need tails to help them keep their balance. They use their tails to sense their place in space.'
Emily was so happy about being asked a question by her sister she immediately reported it to this blogger, who promised to file the report ASAP.
Abigail asked her sister, Emily, this while they were playing with Emily's rats, Lily and Rose.
Ever the budding pedagogue, Emily answered, 'Well, Abigail' (this is usually how Emily starts), 'Rats need tails to help them keep their balance. They use their tails to sense their place in space.'
Emily was so happy about being asked a question by her sister she immediately reported it to this blogger, who promised to file the report ASAP.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Mr. Potato Man
Abigail cogently noted tonight that her Mr. Potato Man (who has enough attachments to be Mrs. Potato woman if we want... or a curious mix of the two...) has only three fingers and a thumb. Carefully concentrating on numbers these days and not letting a detail pass her by, Abigail asked me why.
Now, I don't know why I even try to answer some of these questions. I mean, I should know better. Abigail is usually one step ahead of me. But I just couldn't resist.
"He has only three fingers and one thumb because he is a toy, honey," I answered.
"But Barbie has four fingers and a thumb and she is a toy, too," was the immediate and articulate response.
You got me there kid.
He's pretend, OK Abigail? He is pretend... geez. It is really complicated... I don't know why Mr. Potato Head has only three fingers and a thumb... maybe someone does.
I really thought she would be at least ten before she stumped me to this extent.
Sigh.
Now, I don't know why I even try to answer some of these questions. I mean, I should know better. Abigail is usually one step ahead of me. But I just couldn't resist.
"He has only three fingers and one thumb because he is a toy, honey," I answered.
"But Barbie has four fingers and a thumb and she is a toy, too," was the immediate and articulate response.
You got me there kid.
He's pretend, OK Abigail? He is pretend... geez. It is really complicated... I don't know why Mr. Potato Head has only three fingers and a thumb... maybe someone does.
I really thought she would be at least ten before she stumped me to this extent.
Sigh.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
There is more... and more...
No, dear follower(s?), Abigail didn't stop asking questions. Even better, I didn't stop taking note of them! But I did get drowned by life as it has been passing me by.
A sampling of the better questions of the last four weeks:
Why are dogs like wolves? Ah. Excellent question. She saw the similarity when her baby sister was given a toy stuffed wolf. And her baby sister, Amanda, knows the sign for dog (pant like a dog) which she did. (Never mind that Amanda pants for cats, rats, bunnies and any other mammal she has seen.) I am sure Abigail made the same link, and when I corrected Amanda, saying, 'No, not a dog, a wolf!' Abigail asked this question.
Why does Christophe (our hairdresser) have so many mirrors? Well, that one seemed obvious to me, but not to her. It opened up a discussion on how we like to look at ourselves, how he uses the mirrors to work.
Why do cars need gas? The answer was hard to formulate. I started to use the 'they need gas for the same reason we need food' explanation, but it sounded weird (we were in the car, and I watched her reaction in the rear view mirror and I could tell it wasn't making sense). And, I mean, well, yeah, we don't eat or drink gas. So, I switched tactics. I told her that the gas explodes when it is hot, and that the little explosion moves the parts of the engine which in turn move the wheels. She seemed to like that... and it lead to...
How are cars made, anyway? Crikey, kid! Slow down! Let me catch my breath between questions, will ya?
A sampling of the better questions of the last four weeks:
Why are dogs like wolves? Ah. Excellent question. She saw the similarity when her baby sister was given a toy stuffed wolf. And her baby sister, Amanda, knows the sign for dog (pant like a dog) which she did. (Never mind that Amanda pants for cats, rats, bunnies and any other mammal she has seen.) I am sure Abigail made the same link, and when I corrected Amanda, saying, 'No, not a dog, a wolf!' Abigail asked this question.
Why does Christophe (our hairdresser) have so many mirrors? Well, that one seemed obvious to me, but not to her. It opened up a discussion on how we like to look at ourselves, how he uses the mirrors to work.
Why do cars need gas? The answer was hard to formulate. I started to use the 'they need gas for the same reason we need food' explanation, but it sounded weird (we were in the car, and I watched her reaction in the rear view mirror and I could tell it wasn't making sense). And, I mean, well, yeah, we don't eat or drink gas. So, I switched tactics. I told her that the gas explodes when it is hot, and that the little explosion moves the parts of the engine which in turn move the wheels. She seemed to like that... and it lead to...
How are cars made, anyway? Crikey, kid! Slow down! Let me catch my breath between questions, will ya?
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