there are SO many things i want to remember about these amazing days and moments you/we are having.
i am SO graced by every moment with you.
some notes from just the past few days:
– out of the blue, this past weekend: “i am grateful for wheat that makes cheddar bunnies. i am grateful for cows, that make milk, that make cheese, for cheddar bunnies.” 🙂 first time you used that word, which you probably heard for the first time at Weaving Earth (WE) those first days 9/4 & 5.
– in the car, yesterday morning, en route to WE, suddenly, out of the blue, to dad and my amusement: “QUIET! i’m trying to meditate.” you close your eyes, put on a meditation countenance. i am grinning ear to ear, trying to catch dad’s eyes in the rearview mirror. he closes his eyes to join you. it lasts maybe a minute.
– you are often totally engaged on pickup (like here, transferring water by hair from a pond to a hole), clearly happy, filled. you regale us with stories that make me wish i were there, here and there, to share some of these experiences with you in person. i am grateful you share with us. i hope through time we maintain the sort of connection where you come to dad & me to share your life. it is the greatest pleasure. it is among what makes life worth living.
– with incredible excitement, in the car en route home yesterday, you share how you all went on a “real live adventure!” you describe the route. you go to a cow pasture. there’s a fence. you climb thru a space in the fence. some other kids climb over. Melodie holds the electric fence up with 2 sticks and you crawl under. you all find a pond. it is beautiful, the only really green place all around. it has those tall grasses that grow in water. it is about the size of our front yard and M&L’s.
– you come home daily with feathers, rocks, stuff in your backpack. yesterday, you came home with a tooth! you put it in your closed hands and unveil it to me: it is incredible – a huge animal tooth that was by a skull that was laying on the ground. “feel how sharp it is.” you put my finger on it. you have no idea what animal it is from, but describe the skull, shaping an oblong with your arms.
– you also came home yesterday with the homemade elderberry syrup you all worked on last week. (THAT had been a great delight: elbow deep in berries, squishing, squishing!). you borrow a spoon and try some right away. “i want to have pancakes with elderberry syrup!” you say as you enter the car. dad runs into Whole Foods en route home to get pancake mix so you can have that for dinner. you also have elderberry soda, mixing the syrup with bubbly water; and make an experiment, combining that with lemon juice.
– last week, en route home, you proclaimed: “I decided I like sunblock.” You describe how you hit rocks, made rock powder, added a bit of water to make paint, painted each others faces. “That is the sort of sunblock I like.” 🙂
It’s not all rainbows. Or, actually, it is:
I also had one of those “I did not receive the parenting manual” moments this week when you and L both wanted a long grass to play with the kitty with and he ended up with it.
You are UPSET, screaming, crying, hissing at him. “You ruined all the fun!” you shout. Then, you lunge at him and I auto-race in: “Anja. Stop. Bodies are not for hurting.” I try to verbally have you come indoors to do your emoting. You refuse. I try to physically move you in. You struggle. I’m not going to momhandle you. I feel like all the neighbors are watching or keeping their eyes averted, judging our household, judging my parenting, thinking they would never stand for this from their child. I manage to get you in the house and close the door. We fall to the floor. ‘Why is L out there having fun and your fun is ruined and now I am ruining it even more?!’ You are hitting at me. The second I move away from the door you unlock it and race out, but by then everyone is gone.
You are fierce. Your emotions are fierce. I love that you have that direct connection between emotion and expression. I value your having space to emote, and, boy, am I uncomfortable in those moments when you, at 5 3/4, understandably don’t always do that full force emoting in an “appropriate”, “private” space.
I’m OK with being with this wave of total, frozen discomfort within myself. I’m aware these moments are from unresolved stuff from my own background. I am an ‘imperfect’ parent as there is no such thing as a ‘perfect’ parent. Or, rather, I am a ‘perfect’ parent in that a ‘perfect’ one is perfectly imperfect. I am a human parent, consciously growing, and that is beautiful. I love myself. I love you.