The Maze and the Mean Turtle

Evan and I made crayon pictures of lightning storms, ate grapes, read stories, and looked at the book of photos of his first year. “I was so cute, I want to squeeze myself when I look at those pictures.” We played Obstacles, his favorite game, and then I suggested we go out to collect some acorns and leaves to make a mandala. 

“We don’t have to go outside,” he said. “We can make one on your bed, with rocks.” We sat on the bed with my basket of rocks, and he sorted them into color groups and told me which ones are smooth, which ones are scratchy, and which ones are his favorites. “I like the green ones, and the ones with glitter in them, and the brown-and-white ones, and the smooth ones. I rub the smooth ones on my face. Here, you try.” I went to the kitchen to make lunch, and when I came back, I found this.

“I made a maze,” he explained, “and I put all the toy animals in the middle, so they can be safe. But the toy turtle was a problem, so I had to take him out.”

“What’s going on with the turtle?” I asked.

“The turtle felt trapped. He didn’t know how to get out of the maze. When somebody feels trapped, that makes him mean to everybody else. So the turtle was yelling at the other animals and being mean, and I had to take him out.”

“How is he now?”

“Lonely and mean.”

“Would it be helpful if we were extra nice to him?” 

“No. He just needs time alone.”

Some four-year-olds would do a better job of running the world than adults are doing.

After lunch we went downtown on the streetcar to the enormous Dia de Muertos celebration at the Art Museum, where Bella and her mom met us.