Her wisdom

Bela approached me yesterday with (crocodile) tears in her eyes. I think she was in trouble, and, as she is wont to do, she appealed to me with some complaint of her own, to detract attention from her misdeed.

"Mom, it's hard being the big girl" (sniff sniff, wipe away tears)

"I know, Bela. Growing up can feel hard sometimes."

"Everybody needs me to do things for them."

"Yes Bela. I can only imagine what that must feel like" (voice heavy with sarcasm)

Every day I have to help Mae clean up, and every night I have to close up her pillow pet for her. At school, I have to help L build the fort, and everyone is always saying 'Bela can you do this, Bela can you do that."

I couldn't help but chuckle to envision my eldest helping my youngest "close up her pillow pet" and what a hassle that must be for her. I'm chuckling now.

But sometimes, being the big girl has its benefits as well. Lately, Bela has become the dispenser of childhood wisdom in this house. At least she is for Mae. Her vocabulary is littered of late with expressions such as "don't worry, silly", "when I was young", and "of course." 

Tonight, minutes before they both fell asleep, Mae started crying. It so happens that she has entered that phase where she realizes that eventually, one day, hopefully in the distant future, we will all die. She is struggling with this, and she sought some sage advice from the first born. I stood outside their door furiously jotting notes for this entry, trying not to laugh. Trying not to cry.

Mae: I don't want to die, Bela. I won't be able to smell my blankie when I'm dead. Or eat. Or drink water. Or make my animals talk to each other. And we won't be able to go back to our house.

Bela: Sure we can go back to our house, but other people will be living there.

Mae: When we're dead we turn into dirt.

Bela: I know, but you can still walk and talk and move around.

Mae: But dirt can't walk.

Bela: But we're not dirt, silly. We're people. And we'll live underground and then we'll turn into trees.

Mae, after some pause: Will we come back to life?

Bela: Pause. Pause. Pause. No. 

Mae: We'll be dead forever?

Bela: Yes. But don't worry. I used to be scared when I was young too. 

Mae, long pause: Are all the people dying?

Bela: Of course. All people die, and new people fill the Earth.

Admittedly, some of this is my fault. The last time we visited the tree where we buried some of Brian's ashes, I may have disturbed them slightly by expressing my hopes that he somehow became part of that tree as it grew. Or maybe they have just been listening to too much NPR.

But watching that girl of mine grow and dispense sisterly counsel makes me such a proud mama, and maybe a teeny bit sad.