That transition between babyhood, toddlerhood into peoplehood is so cumbersome. It seemed so much easier to teach the children how to talk, clap their hands, play games and what food is good than to teach them how to share themselves, talk about their feelings, work it out to play nicely and enjoy life.
I watch my daughter translate books onto paper to write stories, do endless math problems on her white board between pleas with whining to paint her nails and wear her shiny shoes to school. The pleading after I have already said no over and over. Chica’s long hair dangles down her back, her skinny jeans and fancy tshirt and a vest from the “frift” store is her uniform when not in school. She dances wildly whenever the mood strikes her and sings songs she hears on the radio. She is tiny and wee at bedtime begging to sleep in my bed just to fall asleep. Sprawled out, blond hair across my pillow she always sleeps on my side making my pillow warm and soft and smelling like six year old girl. She is so old and so little all at the same time and I don’t know what to do with her when she acts in between. I can have a baby and I can talk to a person but I am not really sure what she is right now.
Then there is Spawn and he is so old and sweet and sensible and reasonable and responsible and kind. While he is rough and beats on his sister he also rushes to comfort her when she takes it too far and he kicks her ass. He continues to comfort her even though her arms hand at her sides and wails at the injustice of retaliation when she smacks him, jumps on him and then he kicks her. Hard. Sensitive about his size he bemoans how short he is and how he isn’t big and wants so much to be as tall as he feels inside. Size is such a weird issue for boys as they tend to grow later than girls. This year in third grade almost all the girls are taller than the boys and he is the shortest boy. As a young girl I was always the tallest until 5th grade and hated being big. I don’t know what it is like to feel small and scrawny. I want to stretch him and pull on him, stuff him full of food, feed him growth hormone and cast magic spells to make his desires come true.
There are just some things I can’t fix even though I am the mama. That is supremely frustrating and vexing and I hate it.
I hate it because I remember wondering why my mother didn’t fix the things I thought were wrong and now that I am the mama I know now it’s because for all my magical powers as a mother-there are just some things I can’t do.
I hope love and affection are enough.