Conor has started yoga at daycare. A yogini comes by every two weeks and teaches the children different positions. The first class just involved reaching for the sun, but lately, Conor has shown us how he can make himself into a ball and how he can not only do Down Dog, but can then do Down Dog with one hand behind his back.
It's pretty impressive not only that he knows these positions, but that they are teaching children yoga at daycare.
On Sunday, we were decorating cookies together and Conor put his hands in prayer pose and bowed a little while he said "mamastink."
"What?" I asked.
"Manastink. Mamastink. Mamastink," all the while his hands are folded.
"I think you mean 'Namaste'" I suggested to him.
"Mamastink," he replied.
"Namaste," I counted.
This went on for a while until he got very frustrated and said "YOGA! YOGA! I learned this in Yoga cwass!!!"
"I know, honey! I learned it in yoga class, too. And it's Namaste!"
"Mamastink!!" he insisted one more time, although finally willing to concede that maybe Mama might know a bit more about yoga than he. And that she didn't stink.
We continue to be on Death Watch. I thought Sergio had finally kicked the fishbowl Saturday morning when I had to go past just flicking the side of the bowl to shaking it a bit to see if he was still alive. (He squiggled a bit, so we took that as a proclamation that he was not dead yet.) This morning he actually ate something so I think we have a while to go.
It's very sad to see an animal towards the end. We are certainly following his lead on this. Sort of like attachment parenting, but more like attachment fishing, but where the attachments do not involve lures. Also, it's hard to comfort a fish. They don't take to touching and petting all that well.
He's had a good little life, our Sergio. And I think he has a little bit left in him. Maybe he'll make it to Christmas. I'm sure that the holiday holds much meaning for him.