Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Zen and a pet bee

Many moods flitting through the day, like so many clouds. Here I'm trying to be all zen about it, but Willa's scrambling and perched on the rungs of the wooden chair behind me. And poking me with her claw.

But speaking of zen, it never ceases to amaze me how just zenful great I feel after workouts -- well, most of the time. Always exceptions in this life. But, it just shifts me, clears me, lifts the crap and leaves me in a good place. This I am deeply grateful for.

Now, story of the day:

Today, in our lunch date, Mauricio was ... different. Uncharted territory. He was either fucking with me or, with next week being vacation week, was just done, ready to get out, or he ate something crazy for breakfast, or some combo of all of those.

So, he comes out to meet me with his class, like always. And he's always very drawn to the bookcart (shiny new books -- who can blame him) -- except that makes the program coordinator kinda uptight and nervous, and I'm always caught between "just let the kid look" and "he shouldn't be doing that, make him stop doing that!" A lot of times, he'll grab what seems like the first book he sees. And I humor him, let him bring it with. This time, he grabs Diary of a Wimpy Kid -- a big ole "real book" thing -- we've been mostly in picture books, although high-level ones. So, I marvel, go with it, and we head for the classroom.

Sitting there, he mostly wants to just flip through its pages. Which I let him do for a while, then start prompting him "Do you want to read that one?" "OK, you need to pick one," and he finally says "I can read it" which is what he said last week. So, this is another mini dilemma, because the point of the program is for us to read to them, and they make a point of that in the training. Before, I got him to read a little, then I'd read the rest, which seemed to work. I give him options for how to do this today, he doesn't respond.

Finally, he hands me the book. OK, I start reading. He seems into it. Then, with maybe 7 or 8 minutes left, he starts packing up his lunch. I point out we have time yet; he's undeterred (the kid knows his own mind). Then he kinda starts wandering around the classroom. He's never done this. He stops by the window at the back door. I get up, go over, ask him what he's looking at. "The trucks," he says (there are two large orange work trucks on the school grounds). So we discuss the trucks for a moment. Then he wanders back to his desk. I ask him what he's doing next week for vacation. He says he's going to DC. I quiz him a little, his whole family is going; they're driving to the airport, then flying; he's flown before.

Then, then, I'm asking what he'll do in DC and he says, "Go to the White House." I exclaim over that. Then -- this is the good part -- he says he's going to go to the White House, says something or other about going behind it (?), then he's going to come home, and then, he looks me right in the eyes and says, "And get a pet bee."

"A pet bee?" I say quizzically (I didn't hear him right, what's he saying?). He looks into my eyes again, firmly says, "A pet bee." I pause. He says, "A bumblebee."

This is maybe the best thing I've heard, oh, all week. He has a straight face, so no clue whether he was messing with me or having fun or was dead serious. Kids, they're the craziest, most mysterious creatures, I'm tellin' ya.

So, we discuss the pet bee -- I'm quite enthused about this. He says his mom knows. He says he'll bring it to school. I ask whether it will be a girl or boy bee. "A boy," he says. I ask what he'll name it; this stumps him. I ask him what he'll do if it wants to sting people; this also stumps him. Then I suggest maybe it'll be a nice bumblebee, and he agrees, "It'll be a nice bumblebee."

Then he goes and sits in a chair on the opposite side of the desk cluster, away from the desk. More mysterious behavior I've never seen before. And he sits there. Another reader whose kid can't sit still and is off bouncing around somewhere chats with Mauricio for a moment, which he seems to tolerate. Finally, he looks at me and says, "I want my class back." It's a little plaintive, and I feel bad, assure him they're coming. And then they do.

So, all odd, not sure what to make of it. We'll see what happens in 2 weeks!

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