mothering :: eight years in

eight.

there's a big shift happening these days.  I watch as she stretches into new territory, trying on different  things, seeing how they suit her.  different angles, different outlooks, different boundaries, different questions.  different ideas.  mostly, I still see her as my little girl. (because dolls and snuggles and the strategic and sometimes hours-long staging of calico critters and such- though I am saddened to say this is the year she has realized that not everyone wears a bonnet as their primary summer hat and she has requested we get something different.  ouch.  am I so naive to have thought she'd perhaps never come to that realization?)



now, if you'll please excuse me and allow me the much-needed nostalgia of staring at and sharing this photo from three summers ago:

sigh.

so~ as I was saying.  mostly she still feels very much like my little girl.  but oh, there are hints of the adolescent within, and of the woman she will become.  funny how with each new phase I find myself mourning the passing torch less than I would have anticipated (the whole bonnet thing aside, maybe).  I suppose the fact that each stage comes with its own conveniently packaged bundle of new! exciting! things! helps to ease the transition and take a bit of the sting out of the inevitable bittersweetness.


we've had some tender moments lately when she has asked questions that I know made her squirm a bit- me, thinking my way through answering in the right way- which really, is any way that lets her know it is ok to ask me anything anytime.  reassuring her that we all fret that we are oddballs sometimes and that truly, really, we kind of all are so it is just fine.  more than fine.  in an effort to illustrate just how very normal all of this is I tell her embarrassing and awkward stories from my childhood (and sometimes my adulthood, because let's face it, it isn't as if the amount of awkward stories really took all that sizable a plunge after childhood...).  she usually gets a kick out of them.  and in funny little ways it glues us even closer together.

I am her mama.  but also her friend.  her guide.  and, of course, sometimes I am her student.  actually change that from sometimes to often.  I cringe a bit to admit how very often I find myself learning quite a lot about myself and how I am not, it turns out, as patient and laid back as I like to think I am.  I do think that parenting tends to highlight at times that side in all of us, but ooph-  sometimes I'd rather not see it so often.  sometimes I feel like I'm done learning about myself for a while now, thankyouverymuch.

but here we are, approaching the middle of her eight-year-old-summer.  as I am currently hosting my annual weeklong girls' garden and art camp this week, I find myself observing a whole gaggle of little girls in their 7th-9th summer and I must say, I do think that this 7-9 stretch may just be the glory days of childhood.

she

she's growing up, this little one.  stretching out long and tall.  figuring out bit by bit who she is.  she tells me her favorite things are reading, knitting, art, and listening to audiobooks.  she's also a big fan of riding horses (well, a particular horse) and playing the ukulele.  she is a frequent builder of fairy houses and fairy teepees and other things of the fairy realm.  she is funny and smart.  she has a great big heart that she wears on her sleeve just like her mama.  she's got a pretty awesome vocabulary for a seven year old (though plenty of those adorable misspeaks sneak through often enough for me to feel that she isn't so so big).  she is moved to tears of happiness easily.  she is an observer.  often when she is pretending with friends she is either riding a stick horse and neighing loud and shrill for all to hear, or she is a lost orphan with a sad British accent (must be all that somber British children's lit).  she loves her people, she loves her cat.

I love her big as big and wide as the universe.

about a girl

she is part warrior, part woodland fairy.  a little bit joker, and a whole lot of serious.  she is often quiet and reserved,  but she can let loose and enter a place that is all giggles and wild dancing.  she is discerning, compassionate, considerate, and kind.  she appreciates both the sensible and the sparkly (which of course is not to say that they are necessarily mutually exclusive).  she is stubborn.  observant.  she is both timid and brave.  she is no stranger to happy tears.  she is well acquainted with them, actually.  sometimes she tastes colors and feels sounds, describes things in the most amazing ways.  for example, once she took a bite of apple and told me it tasted 'high and bright' and reminded her very much of a specific pink marker of hers.  another time she took a bite of hummus and said "mama, for just a minute this hummus kind of tasted like you.  it felt like you.  for a second I felt this warmness and it was like you".  

she surprises me often.



she wants to be near me, near us.  I watch her spread her wings.  sometimes a lot, sometimes not so much.  I am happy to hold her close for now.  I stare at her face - sometimes I think I could watch her for hours- and wonder what lies ahead for her.  sometimes we sit, she and I, on the couch and smile at each other and are amazed by how big the love is, by how much space it fills.  it's so big it hurts- in that way that stretches us farther than we thought we could stretch and makes us more vulnerable than we ever knew possible.  in that way that fills you to overflowing with all the feelings that are available to you, and opens your eyes to the goodness and the joy and the fear and the worry and the pain but mostly, mostly, the sustaining, redemptive goodness of the world.

of course, sometimes when we sit on the couch together we just laugh and make fart noises.




I hope all the usual hopes a mama will- safety, peace, a deep knowing of how loved and cherished she is.  confidence and trust enough in the world to soar in whatever direction, toward whatever big and beautiful things she wants to reach for.

this girl.  my sweet warrior princess.

magic

this little one has had such fun writing little books and stories over the past several months.  I date them and save them, and it is quite fun to go back and see how her language has developed.   It is amazing how, even with very little formal instruction, she grasps certain concepts and ideas and somehow absorbs them into the larger picture that is her vocabulary and understanding of language.  for a while, she hesitated to write anything because she was so concerned that it all be spelled exactly right.  letting go of that has been the best thing ever, and I'm so glad she has learned to just go with the flow and have fun.

these photos are from a little book she made for me, several weeks ago.

probably needless to say...... I LOVE it.

and here, a book she made one day (over the course of an afternoon) all on her own and secretly, as a gift for papa:

("deer in autumn, cherry red")

("bears in summer, green and brown")

("horses in spring")

("foxes in winter, white and grey")

("playing with my dolls")

("eating dinner on the porch")

("reading books with papa!" - complete with mama, as usual, hogging the warmest spot by the wood stove with a book in my hand)

("I really liked writing this book, it was fun.  You will see that I drew pictures of our family...") 

("....and things I like to do.  I love you Papa!  The end!")

she also likes to sneak mail into the mailbox for me before I check it....


and here is another short story she wrote, a couple months ago:

"Once upon a time there was a tree.  A squirrel lived in it.  Every day the squirrel went out and collected nuts for his hibernation next winter's nights.  One day he was collecting nuts when he met a wolf.  They became friends."



and that's a bit of that.  to me, it all seems quite a lot like magic.  what fun each new stage brings along....

six

as of last weekend she's completed six trips around the sun, this girl of mine.  she woke to us quieting singing the birthday song, and a house full of balloons and color.  we surprised her with a camera of her own and turned a built-in hamper in her room into a 'secret nook'.  we celebrated with a late-morning tea party for her and six of her girlfriends.  (her closest male friends were good sports about it, and had her on their minds too- one left a pot of red gerber daisies on the stoop for her, and another sent a text message to her (via his mama, of course) that read something like "Hi Claire.  I love you.  Happy Birthday" (followed by about 70 or 80 little emojis or whatever they are called- whatever they are, my old (not smartphone) phone recognizes them simply as rectangles....).  it was funny, deciding to encourage a 'girls-only' party.  it took me a while to come around to it, and I didn't want to leave anyone out, but also knew I wanted something small (in the winter, in our small house) and so a tea party sounded like a good plan.  and I imagined it might be the ladies who'd enjoy it most, so I told her it was nice to include everyone, yes, but that it was also okay to have a girls-only thing sometimes, too.  and so while she fully embraced the girliness sparkle of it all, I was (only moderately, though) surprised when the first thing she did when her first couple guests showed up was to run into the back yard to show them how to shoot her little bow and arrow.  so there's that.  she is, quite truly, my little warrior princess.

papa, about three weeks prior to the party, informed me he was going to either rent a tux or buy a bow tie and cummerbund, in order to better play the part of server at her party.  a role I hadn't put upon him or even really thought much about before, figuring the little ladies could just self-serve their mini sandwiches and such.  but oh no- he had a plan.  and I must say that it was so very well executed and that it made the girls so giddy and giggly, and Claire was so surprised (good surprised) to see her main man so gussied up, just for her.

we sang to her, we ate cake, we pinned horns on a unicorn, we made fairy glitter gel for the girls to take home, we listened to them play.  this was the first year I didn't specifically request 'no gifts' and insist to people that "their presence is their present", seeing as how, as they get older, they start to get the idea that "oh, hey- people will probably bring me a present", and generally not wanting to too much interfere with however people wanted to celebrate her, and she has had such fun with her sweet gifts.  a wee little tea set, a paint-your-own birdhouse kit, a stuffed monkey, a lovely handmade pillowcase, a beautiful book, a handmade coiled rope bowl, a fairy doll crafting set and magnetic fairy play board...... not to mention the sweetest box in the mail from nana and pipop, filled with all sorts of thoughtful goodies, and a handmade stuffed dog (and matching pajamas!) made by my mom.

it was such fun, all of it.  such bright, hopeful, colorful, simple fun.



six years since that blizzard-y, full moon night.  my goodness.  it both does, and does not, seem like so long ago~

may she feel special, and celebrated.
may she know the depth of our love for her.
may she feel safe and secure.
may she know the joy she bring to us, to her world.

may she celebrate ever so many more birthdays, in good health and much happiness.

all my love to you, sweet girl.