Sonja is a conscientious mother.  She spent a lot of time prior to having children educating herself about the responsibilities of parenting.  She entered motherhood with a very high level of commitment to her spouse, her children and the world at large.  Her youngest child, Stephen, is nine-years old and in the "fire" stage of development.  Although he has been raised in a non-violent and loving home environment, she is struggling with what she sees happening at this stage.  Stephen is quite competitive and seems to ignore many of the family values.  She has caught him on more than one occasion using a stick or toy car as a gun.  He mimics the sound of automatic gunfire while aiming at some imaginary foe.  Sonja has tried to talk to Stephen about the inappropriateness of this play and why she feels that guns are wrong, but he doesn't really seem to listen.  When his friends come over to play, they almost always end up wrestling, putting each other into headlocks, knocking each other to the ground, or playing some video game.  Sonja recoils every time she hears another news story about violence in the classroom and worries that Stephen is at risk. 

Boys use role playing games, video games, shooting, pounding, tackling and wrestling as outlets for fire.  They are naturally drawn to this play as it affords them an opportunity to feel and release this energy.  Any behavior that seems innate, despite our attempts to modify it, probably has an energetic source.  Providing outlets for this energy is what is needed.  Dance (hip/hop), music, drumming, martial arts, sports, scouts, etc., are all ideal outlets.  Stephen may still enjoy wrestling, video games,  and gun play when friends come over, but if his parents have provided a variety of other physical outlets, they need not worry.  Truly violent acts are almost always a symptom of energetic disruption and misdirected fire.  Being comfortable with our passionate, creative, fiery and competitive selves is critical.  Without this creative energy our planet would cease to exist.     

I have very fond memories of summer time as a child.  My days were filled with wandering around outside aimlessly, playing with friends, going swimming, family picnics, boredom, attempting cockamamie projects with my brother and drinking lemonade that was too sour.  I don't remember my parents or relatives stressing out at the idea of children under foot.  There wasn't talk in April of what the summer plans would be.  Times have changed.  Parents begin planning for summer during Spring Break or earlier.  Our summer calendars are filled with various camps, classes, workshops and trips.  Summer is no longer a time to decompress and de-stress. We merely exchange one set of stressors for another.  I'm not one of those people who reminisce about the past with such nostalgia that I resist the present day realities, but I do think we spend too much time in frenetic activity.  If you never experience boredom or frustration, you miss the opportunity to channel that boredom into something creative.  If every moment is filled with some type of activity or entertainment, you lose the capacity to be still and to be quiet.  I don't think we as parents want to schedule every minute, but sometimes we feel compelled by what others are doing or what we think we "should" do.  We are easily controlled by our guilt. 

My family is  having a quiet summer this year, taking a couple of small trips, going camping, but otherwise just "chillin," as my son is so fond of saying.  I don't know that he will remember this as the perfect summer.  He has complained about being bored a few times.  In fact, he complained just a few minutes ago.  I smiled, made a few suggestions and turned back to my computer screen.  I heard him pacing around the house.  I heard him playing with the dog.  Then, a few minutes later I heard him rummaging around in the garage.  Ah, the joys of summer!

I spoke with a friend over the weekend, whose family has lost a cat.  It has been several days now, and they are beginning to really worry.  They've peppered the neighborhood with signs, they've walked and driven nearby streets looking for their orange tabby.  They've done everything possible to find this family pet.  The time has come to prepare for the worse.  Tabby may not be coming home.  Loss is inevitable and it is difficult.  Some losses are relatively small--the loss of a toy or some desired object.  Other losses are huge--the loss of a parent or teacher through death, a move, the death of a pet.  These injuries should never be minimized.  For no matter how large or small the loss, it is very real and needs to be acknowledged.  Loss is an experience felt in every energy center; the initial physical jolt or shock (earth); the subsequent rush of emotion (water); the anger and denial, "this can't possibly be true!" (fire); the telling of the story and expression of grief, sadness, pain (air); that ability to transcend and find peace (ether). 

It can be difficult to charter the waters of grief and loss with a child, but if you keep the energetic progression of loss in mind, you are not without a roadmap.  My youngest son was in kindergarten when his father died.  I remember well the stages of grief that he went through.  He did not dissolve into tears upon hearing of his father's death, but asked lots of questions.  He wanted and needed lots of the facts.  After this initial reaction, he seemed to withdraw a bit.  Later, he began to feel the sadness and was tearful, sorrowing.  Next came anger.  Why did he go now?  Why did he do this to us?  I'm not ready!  The angry fiery emotions were relatively short-lived and were followed by the need to tell his story.  He talked a lot about what had happened and would bring it up out of the blue at the store, at school, at the park.  Eventually, he no longer talked so much about the event, but instead began to talk about where his dad was now.  Part of this more etheric experience was also represented by his need to identify with dad.  Since his father had walked with a cane, he began randomly using a stick to walk, or would pretend that he was blind.  After these little episodes of identification with dad, he would wax whimsical and begin talking again about how close his father was in spirit, how he still felt his dad in his heart.  He'd sit quietly, peacefully, pensively.  If your child seems to be struggling with a loss, join them in their process.  Help mirror if necessary, the progression of the stages.  Don't worry about how they do it or how long they stay in the various energetic spaces.  Every experience and expression is unique.  Children take their cues from us.  If they sense that we honor the experience of grief and loss without minimizing or denying it, then they will do the same.