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.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
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?
Thursday, September 9, 2010
How did she die?
So our dog Zoe has had a rough few months. It started well over three years ago, when she got a lump on her jaw. It was removed, but grew back. This happened 3 times before the vet referred us to a serious veterinary surgeon. The latter removed part of Zoe's lower jaw in an operation that took over 6 hours. It cost a small fortune. And afterward, I am not sure Zoe was happy we did it. It took many days for her to recover, and she never felt fully comfortable playing with her young pal, Gracie, again.
Well, Zoe did make it through that, but it was the beginning of the 'lumpy years'. Big fatty tumors here and there; small fleshy ones every now and then. A couple of these small fleshy ones were removed, including one last April, a few weeks shy of Zoe's 13th birthday. The vet was dubious about her ability to withstand the anesthesia, but she did. This probably in large part to our vet's amazing skill and prowess. And Zoe spent many more weeks being happy and a wild ball chaser.
Zoe had lost a few steps in the last year, but still went wild at the country house, where for hours on end she would bark at us to throw her ball.
Then this summer hit. She started to atrophy in weird places; she started losing her balance. And, she became increasingly incontinent.
As the summer wore on, it was clear she was loosing ground. When we returned from our vacation in Iceland in late August, Zoe was tired, and had bouts of laboured breathing. She could no longer get herself up. We helped her stand several times a day, and we took her outside for her needs. A few times we missed on getting her out in time, but followed up with a bath that seemed much appreciated by her.
But then, late last week she had very tough nights. She couldn't breathe well, she stopped eating all her food. And she no longer wanted her daily walk. All signs that the earthly treats were losing their appeal for her.
I knew it was time that Zoe leave our lives. I didn't like the idea, but what could we do? Watch her suffer endlessly? Our former dog, Nike, live to nearly 16. And she was in very difficult straits at the end. Our vet told us then: 80% of dogs die through euthanasia. Wow. So veterinary medicine is so advanced it keeps them alive... but sometimes too long. I knew the chances were not good that Zoe would die on her own. I took the decision to make the fateful appointment with the vet for Friday the 3rd of September. But it was not to be. I was overruled. Zoe should go to the country one last time according to other family members.
Although it is true she seemed to perk up and enjoy her time in the country, she was not herself. She had trouble moving and doing what she liked. She chased a few balls, but that was it. Upon our return, the decline picked up where it left off. Since Abigail's dad was out of the country, it was up to me by myself to take Zoe to the vet to relieve her pain and suffering.
So I did. Abigail's older sister, Emily, courageously volunteered to come with me. We cried over Zoe in front of our benevolent vet. He left us as much time with her as we wanted. She had her first medication to relax her, and she did, right on my lap. We stroked her face and told her how much we loved her. She slept peacefully when we left; the vet assured us he would end her life humanely.
When Nike was euthanized 6 years ago, Emily was told that she had died at the vet's office. Emily took this at face value. It was technically true, but we didn't tell her that the vet had 'helped her along' at our request. We did tell her recently, though. She took it well.
When Emily and I returned from the vet, Abigail asked, 'Where is Zoe?' I told her that Zoe had died at the vet's office. I was sure it was good enough -- it had been for her big sister -- but it wasn't. Abigail persisted, 'How did she die?' Ah... what to say.
Well, I told her the closest thing to the truth that I could: she was very sick. She died of her illness, which had become too much for her. One day I will give a more precise, and truthful, answer to Abigail. For now, Abigail tells everyone that Zoe died. Emily and I keep to ourselves about it, and discuss Zoe's death in low tones between ourselves. It was a shared experience for us two. Abigail doesn't miss Zoe in the obvious way -- Zoe was, after all, very old and difficult for Abigail to handle well. She had missed Zoe's young and wild days. Abigail is more in tune with Gracie, in whom she finds a soul mate. But Abigail still discusses Zoe's death with the confused fascination of the young.
Zoe will fade into the family history, with the stories about her exploits taking on mythical proportions. Isaac Bashevis Singer said it best with regards to the passing of loved ones: "The living die, so the dead can live." Zoe is still alive in my heart, but she is sadly lacking in our home.
Well, Zoe did make it through that, but it was the beginning of the 'lumpy years'. Big fatty tumors here and there; small fleshy ones every now and then. A couple of these small fleshy ones were removed, including one last April, a few weeks shy of Zoe's 13th birthday. The vet was dubious about her ability to withstand the anesthesia, but she did. This probably in large part to our vet's amazing skill and prowess. And Zoe spent many more weeks being happy and a wild ball chaser.
Zoe had lost a few steps in the last year, but still went wild at the country house, where for hours on end she would bark at us to throw her ball.
Then this summer hit. She started to atrophy in weird places; she started losing her balance. And, she became increasingly incontinent.
As the summer wore on, it was clear she was loosing ground. When we returned from our vacation in Iceland in late August, Zoe was tired, and had bouts of laboured breathing. She could no longer get herself up. We helped her stand several times a day, and we took her outside for her needs. A few times we missed on getting her out in time, but followed up with a bath that seemed much appreciated by her.
But then, late last week she had very tough nights. She couldn't breathe well, she stopped eating all her food. And she no longer wanted her daily walk. All signs that the earthly treats were losing their appeal for her.
I knew it was time that Zoe leave our lives. I didn't like the idea, but what could we do? Watch her suffer endlessly? Our former dog, Nike, live to nearly 16. And she was in very difficult straits at the end. Our vet told us then: 80% of dogs die through euthanasia. Wow. So veterinary medicine is so advanced it keeps them alive... but sometimes too long. I knew the chances were not good that Zoe would die on her own. I took the decision to make the fateful appointment with the vet for Friday the 3rd of September. But it was not to be. I was overruled. Zoe should go to the country one last time according to other family members.
Although it is true she seemed to perk up and enjoy her time in the country, she was not herself. She had trouble moving and doing what she liked. She chased a few balls, but that was it. Upon our return, the decline picked up where it left off. Since Abigail's dad was out of the country, it was up to me by myself to take Zoe to the vet to relieve her pain and suffering.
So I did. Abigail's older sister, Emily, courageously volunteered to come with me. We cried over Zoe in front of our benevolent vet. He left us as much time with her as we wanted. She had her first medication to relax her, and she did, right on my lap. We stroked her face and told her how much we loved her. She slept peacefully when we left; the vet assured us he would end her life humanely.
When Nike was euthanized 6 years ago, Emily was told that she had died at the vet's office. Emily took this at face value. It was technically true, but we didn't tell her that the vet had 'helped her along' at our request. We did tell her recently, though. She took it well.
When Emily and I returned from the vet, Abigail asked, 'Where is Zoe?' I told her that Zoe had died at the vet's office. I was sure it was good enough -- it had been for her big sister -- but it wasn't. Abigail persisted, 'How did she die?' Ah... what to say.
Well, I told her the closest thing to the truth that I could: she was very sick. She died of her illness, which had become too much for her. One day I will give a more precise, and truthful, answer to Abigail. For now, Abigail tells everyone that Zoe died. Emily and I keep to ourselves about it, and discuss Zoe's death in low tones between ourselves. It was a shared experience for us two. Abigail doesn't miss Zoe in the obvious way -- Zoe was, after all, very old and difficult for Abigail to handle well. She had missed Zoe's young and wild days. Abigail is more in tune with Gracie, in whom she finds a soul mate. But Abigail still discusses Zoe's death with the confused fascination of the young.
Zoe will fade into the family history, with the stories about her exploits taking on mythical proportions. Isaac Bashevis Singer said it best with regards to the passing of loved ones: "The living die, so the dead can live." Zoe is still alive in my heart, but she is sadly lacking in our home.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Do boys wear jewelry?
So today was Abigail's first day of her last year at Nursery school. It is called "Grande Section". We just refer to it as the 'big kids' class'. Since the big kids went only for a half day today, we got on the metro line at 13h. And directly across from us sat a twenty-something couple. She: shorts, halter top, long mermaid-like hair, necklace, and a tatoo on her shoulder. He: low jeans, tee-shirt with a torn neck, shag haircut, and... a necklace.
Abigail stared at the two of them. I let her go. She is a very attractive child, most people don't mind if she looks at them. And these two seemed utterly involved in their conversation so I don't think they even noticed her. I watched her stare for a few moments, then mused to myself about other things. About 3 stops before ours, they got off. Abigail turned to me and said, "Do boys wear necklaces?"
I verified that I had heard her correctly. She insisted, pointing this time as they left the subway car. I told her not to point... stare, OK; point, no way!
Then it all added up in my head -- the stares, the concentrated looks... she was trying to figure out some things. Probably, Abigail wondered, 'Is that a boy? His hair is kind of long...' (it is 2010 and small children STILL think that girls have long hair and boys have short hair) and then, 'Hmm, is that a necklace?'
And I don't think Abigail had ever seen a male human with a necklace, so it was clearly breaking up some presuppositions for her.
So when she asked, I answered her, 'Yes, boys do wear necklaces.' Not being one to accept such a simple answer, Abigail retorted, 'But Daddy doesn't wear necklaces.' Quite true. And it was hard to keep from laughing... um... scientist with necklace. There's an image...
Anyway, I insisted that some boys do wear necklaces. She seemed appeased.
Abigail stared at the two of them. I let her go. She is a very attractive child, most people don't mind if she looks at them. And these two seemed utterly involved in their conversation so I don't think they even noticed her. I watched her stare for a few moments, then mused to myself about other things. About 3 stops before ours, they got off. Abigail turned to me and said, "Do boys wear necklaces?"
I verified that I had heard her correctly. She insisted, pointing this time as they left the subway car. I told her not to point... stare, OK; point, no way!
Then it all added up in my head -- the stares, the concentrated looks... she was trying to figure out some things. Probably, Abigail wondered, 'Is that a boy? His hair is kind of long...' (it is 2010 and small children STILL think that girls have long hair and boys have short hair) and then, 'Hmm, is that a necklace?'
And I don't think Abigail had ever seen a male human with a necklace, so it was clearly breaking up some presuppositions for her.
So when she asked, I answered her, 'Yes, boys do wear necklaces.' Not being one to accept such a simple answer, Abigail retorted, 'But Daddy doesn't wear necklaces.' Quite true. And it was hard to keep from laughing... um... scientist with necklace. There's an image...
Anyway, I insisted that some boys do wear necklaces. She seemed appeased.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
It isn't the beginning, but certainly not the end
Young children ask a lot of questions. Both Abigail's father and myself were known to be avid questioners when we were around her age. Abigail has inherited our trait, apparently. For months now, she has been asking the most amazing questions. There is so much going on in her brain, and the questions she asks are profound, surprising, and generally quite astute.
Abigail will be five years old in a few weeks. I cannot put a precise date on the first amazing question, and many have slipped away as I have thought that her queries would make a great blog subject. And although I regret the lost questions, she continues everyday to show us that she is still capable of asking even more. So, without further ado, I give you her questions for yesterday and the day before:
Yesterday (said to her Grandmother who is visiting for a few weeks and leaving soon): Why don't I live with you?
Day before yesterday: Why do trains go so fast?
Brief explanation: We don't know if Abigail is fed up with living with her mother, father, and two sisters (Abigail lives in the netherworld of being the middle sibling) or if she just wonders if Grandma's house is more comfortable. At any rate, the question was posed with complete innocence, as if to say, "Why here, and not there?". Why indeed. A hundred years ago, her grandmother probably would have been living in the same house as part of an extended family. In many ways, our current lifestyle belies her logic...
As for why trains go fast, we were on a train bound for our home in Toulouse from Paris and Abigail was watching intently out the window as the scenery sped past. One has to not only listen to Abigail's questions, but her intonation. It seemed that she didn't want to know why trains go fast, but rather, how they can go fast. Not being sure, I initially replied, "So they can get to where they need to quickly." She asked the question again, which is her way of indicating that we didn't satisfy her curiosity. I had suspected she wanted to know how trains could go fast, so I spoke of the tracks that have no real obstacles, that are made just for the trains and don't have to contend with traffic. She was clearly pleased to know that we were the priority traffic on that route.
Abigail will be five years old in a few weeks. I cannot put a precise date on the first amazing question, and many have slipped away as I have thought that her queries would make a great blog subject. And although I regret the lost questions, she continues everyday to show us that she is still capable of asking even more. So, without further ado, I give you her questions for yesterday and the day before:
Yesterday (said to her Grandmother who is visiting for a few weeks and leaving soon): Why don't I live with you?
Day before yesterday: Why do trains go so fast?
Brief explanation: We don't know if Abigail is fed up with living with her mother, father, and two sisters (Abigail lives in the netherworld of being the middle sibling) or if she just wonders if Grandma's house is more comfortable. At any rate, the question was posed with complete innocence, as if to say, "Why here, and not there?". Why indeed. A hundred years ago, her grandmother probably would have been living in the same house as part of an extended family. In many ways, our current lifestyle belies her logic...
As for why trains go fast, we were on a train bound for our home in Toulouse from Paris and Abigail was watching intently out the window as the scenery sped past. One has to not only listen to Abigail's questions, but her intonation. It seemed that she didn't want to know why trains go fast, but rather, how they can go fast. Not being sure, I initially replied, "So they can get to where they need to quickly." She asked the question again, which is her way of indicating that we didn't satisfy her curiosity. I had suspected she wanted to know how trains could go fast, so I spoke of the tracks that have no real obstacles, that are made just for the trains and don't have to contend with traffic. She was clearly pleased to know that we were the priority traffic on that route.
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