Recently I’ve been getting into some pretty heavy theological discussions with Rosalind.  I am tempted to take this responsibility very seriously.  I want her to be aware of spiritual things; I want her to have an optimistic and hopeful view of the universe; I want to be careful not to “program” her into any particular creed or away of thinking (even if that way of thinking is the absence of a creed.)

But then I actually talk to her and I realize my concerns are totally moot.  After all, I can’t even explain to her why Monday is a preschool day, how I am going to prejudice her notion of God?  She’s going to construct her own strange reality based on bits of pieces of words I don’t even remember saying.  And in fact, that’s what is happenning.

The first talk I had with her, we were about to leave on a longish trip when some missionaries came to the door.  I shooed them away, but I could only get Rosy in the car by telling her I’d explain about the men while we were driving.  Here’s a summary of what I said, although I’m sure it was even less articulate at the time:

“Some people [I use "some people" all the time when talking about religion, but Rosy doesn't notice at all] wonder why there are people, and animals, and the sky, and the water.  Why are these things here?  And some people think, someone must have made them.  And that was God.  And God is in everything, in the sky, in your hand, in the trees and plants and animals.  And some people have some stories about God, and those men wanted to tell me about their stories, but I said ‘No thank you’ because I don’t think their stories are true.  People have all different stories and sometimes they get in a big fight: ‘God had a son named Jesus!’  ‘NO!  God had a prophet named Mohammed!’  ‘NO!  God had a son named Jesus!’ And then they get really mad and try to hurt each other.”

All right, maybe I didn’t need to introduce the concept of religious wars just yet.  But it seemed to capture her imagination, and the whole way to the farm she continued to ask, “Tell me that story again about the guys who get mad.”  But when Nathan got home at night and I asked her to tell him what she learned about God, this is how she distilled it: “Dod is in my fingers!  And the sky!  But we tan’t see Dod.”

That all seemed like a reasonable place to end.  But the ideas are still percolating around in her head.  The other day, several weeks after our initial discussion, I was giving her her nightly bedtime massage and she asked for Dod.

“What?”

“I want Dod.”  She gestured with her hand.

“Uh..  You mean Gollum?”  This is what she was gesturing towards:

I gave it to her, shaking my head.

“This is Dod.  Dod is my friend.  He makes it rain, and also not rain.”

Rosy knows *all* the Christmas Carols.  Even now, in July, she gets out the songbook and we sing them together.  I mean, she knows multiple verses.  Here is a solo act:

Rosy’s first drop-off preschool ended in June.  Enchanted Garden was a sweet little Waldorf program for two and three year olds, in Jacqueline Houston’s home and run solely by her.  She went two mornings a week.  I’s mostly play-based, although they made bread once a week on Thursdays and had some other project on Fridays.  After a bit of a rough patch early on, Rosy seemed to enjoy it pretty well.  I liked it too, the environment and the teacher and the other kids, and I felt really good about sending her there.

But I was a little surprised to get her “report card” at the end–it mostly said she lives in her own world, and doesn’t listen at all.  Now, I can easily believe that she does her own thing instead of always participating in what the other kids are doing.  That’s just her personality, she observes before she acts.  But she does listen.  In fact, for a two year old she is a *great* listener.  Why would she ignore Jacqueline?  I still don’t know.  Maybe the environment was too chaotic so she withdrew.  Maybe it’s a pattern that got set when she started (she was barely two) and never changed.  Anyway, it made me glad she going to a Montessori based program next year where she’ll have a lot of individual attention; I think it will suit her personality to a T.

Rosy in the Enchanted Garden

Her other “graduation” was from her first real gymnastics class: i.e., the first class I didn’t have to attend with her.  She had Coach Tara at the Seattle Gymnastics Academy and she is just wonderful.  At first Rosalind was a little nervous about leaving me but soon enough she was completely comfortable, and what a kick it was to watch from the bleachers as she did her little girl things without me!  This class is how I know she’s really a good listener, not just from her interactions with me (but she does listen to me, too.)  Her wide, serious eyes as she gazed intently at her coach were plain to see.

Straddle bat hang