Panda and Dragon

Enzo is a bit under the weather. We got a call from school saying he had an accident and went to the bathroom in his pants. We hadn’t sent extra clothes, so Leifer went down to the school with a change. The very next day, I walked Leif to school while Enzo stayed home. I enjoyed the time with Leif. We ate cookies on the way and felt a little extravagant.

I noticed a Peruvian hairless dog, affectionately called perro sin pelo, on the street and walked closer to take a photo. They are the national dog of Peru. He didn’t appreciate the attention and started growling at us. Early on, when Leifer and I were dating, I saw a perro sin pelo in San Francisco. This one had a tuft of hair on the top of his head, a mohawk for his punk band.

At school, everyone asked about Enzo and whether I had brought an extra change of clothes for him. I continue to feel like an outsider—unfamiliar and a bit clueless. The administrator was free, so I walked into her office and asked if the boys could be in the same class to ease the transition. She explained that the kids are assigned by year. I told her that Enzo would be 4 in April, and since he’s in the 3-year-old class, he seems much older than the other kids to me. This whole conversation was in Spanish. I think she told me she would consider another option. To be understood in Spanish feels quite good. Leifer often understands me without words—he can anticipate my thoughts and feelings by now. We have always navigated communication barriers together, he puts me at ease.

My home in the U.S. is mostly in my control—I can adjust the temperature, I always have transportation, and I can order anything I need on Amazon. Here, I make do with what we have. My options are limited. The temperature is dictated by the weather, and I adjust by changing my clothes or making tea. We have very little with us, and we spend most of our time outside. I spend very little time cleaning. My mind feels clearer, and I can write for several hours a day.

Lucca walked up to something furry on the ground. I couldn’t tell what it was. He was cautious. I thought it might be a chick, as it was the size of my palm. I stood up and walked over. There lay a guinea pig, dead. They had removed it from the coop. I grabbed a shovel and scooped it into a plastic bag. Leifer said they would deal with it later. He wasn’t there when I woke up this morning.

Leifer’s tía is our neighbor and lives in a house between ours and the main road. She sits on the stoop sometimes. Leifer’s cousin, her daughter, also lives there. His tía has lost most of her teeth, and her vision and hearing aren’t good. She stays in the house most of the time, though we see her some mornings on the way to school. I have a picture of her with Abuelita in the field harvesting potatoes when they were much younger. I always say “Buenos días” when I see her—I’m not sure if she knows who I am.

For the last three nights, the boys and I have crept out of our bedroom in the dark to check the night sky. Enzo says we’ll find stars and foxes. We hear dogs howling in the distance. It’s been cloudy each time, but I know one of these nights we’ll be dazzled. Tía told us that as kids, they would sleep under the stars during harvest season.

Leif came to the bed where I was resting in the afternoon. The temperature had dropped and the sky was gray. We would get rain that evening, but I wanted to get warm. “Mom, there are guinea pig babies—two of them. They’re this big,” he said, showing me two inches with his fingers. "Show me!" I exclaimed. They were in the back of the coop, so tiny! One day old, Abuelita said.

“Mom, my teacher doesn’t know English, so I teach my class English,” Leif tells me as we shuck corn together. The boys are beginning to help out around the casita, turning it into a game of who can pull the kernels off the cob fastest. I’m amazed at Leif’s confidence. The teacher says a word in Spanish, and Leif repeats it in English, secure in his purpose.

I read Big Panda and Tiny Dragon to my boys. The panda, through experience, is at ease with change, while the dragon resists. Both characters’ experiences resonate with me. The panda says, “We can try to change our circumstances for the better, but some situations, like this one, we cannot change and should try to accept as they are. That acceptance brings with it great peace.” We think about returning to California, but I let the casita pull me back into the present. Our papers were received, and we got a confirmation letter in the mail. Now what? We don’t know. Except we do. We’re together. I tell my boys every day that home is where we can be together. I want for nothing. Leif tells me, “You have your four babies.” Four? “Yes, Dad is your baby too.” That’s true in a way.

Abuelita measures life by how much food her children eat off their plates. She feels content when they eat and worries if they don’t. I enjoy our meals—we sit around the table, talking and laughing, sharing mutual affection. I, too, measure our days by what my boys are eating.