Sometimes the universe chucks me one
We’re an hour late to camp.
And Mare is not in her pajamas.
I WAS SO FREAKING PROUD TO GET HER DRESSED. She’s in a totally acceptable outfit — skirt, sparkly clogs, peasant shirt. And it’s all clean (to which we credit Cute Husband. I don’t do laundry when my spine has not recently been punctured, and I sure as hell don’t do it when it has).
Mare walks into the auditorium where all the other campers are dressed in flannel and bunny slippers, registers the problem, turns on her heel and heads back out the door, tears of embarassment and disappointment on her little red face.
How could I freaking forget pajama day?
Moment of choice: do I fix it? Make her suck it up? Send her in, bawling, in front of all those kids in the wrong outfit? Is she spoiled or do I owe her one?
Which lesson is right, what will make her strong and good and confident?
“Stop crying,” I tell her. “You’re too old. Deep breaths, in through your nose, out through your mouth.” I hate me. I want to put my arms around her and tell her I am sorry.
But I am not raising wimpy girls.
“Follow me. I mean it — STOP CRYING.” She staggers behind me, gulping, doing her best. She buckles herself into her seat, wiping her face with her fist.
I hit the gas and the Looser Cruiser peals out of the lot and bombs down the road toward TJ Maxx.
“We make this choice in fifteen seconds,” I say striding toward the girls’ section. “No whining, no fuss. We pick, we put it on, we go.” I pull a Supergirl pajama set off the rack. Pink, brown, loud, splashy. I rip off the tags and teach my daughter the Super Sacred Woman’s Trick of changing her clothes in public while revealing nothing.
I toss her a pair of sparkly flip-flops. She lights up, slips them on, we pay and she follows me silently out to the car. She looks as she should: a mini teenager, blonde, absent, pretty.
We’re now an hour and a half late for camp. It’s snack time, the kids are gathered in the courtyard under the trees. Mare shuffles her flip flops over to her group of friends, sits, pulls an apple from her bag.
“Why are you so late?” — The speaker is an older girl, hostile, with long blonde hair and a Hannah Montana nightshirt. Her voice is contorted in a nasty little sing-song.
I want to pick up my baby and run her home.
“Why didn’t you have your pajamas on? Were you crying?” The sing-song is eerie: wicked, high-pitched.
Mare bites her apple nervously, and I wait, frozen, for her to cry big baby girly tears.
Instead she tilts her head and looks at the girl quizzically. “Why are you talking in that voice?” she asks.
It is classic of her mother — of the best her mother can be, but did not learn to be until much later in life than Mare is doing it. She has refused to be baited, has dropped the ball dead in her opponant’s corner and forced her to run for it.
I am devestated with happy: for the first time I see myself in my daughter, see something good and decent and strong and powerful that I have given her that can’t be denied. If I had died in the hospital Friday, she would still be as she is, chewing her apple and studying that girl with a mercilessly blank face.
“What voice?” the girl asks in her normal voice. But it’s too late. She looks dumb, and she knows it, and so do the other girls who subtly turn themselves toward Mare, chatting about other things.
I can’t get my laundry under control, I routinely screw up the bills, I’m never on time, can’t freaking remember pajama day and often wonder if I am just a big stupid kid who really shouldn’t be in charge of anything.
But then the universe chucks me one.
What if I had chosen never to be a mother?
Then that damned fine human being would not be sitting under a tree, eating an apple and daring anyone to make her apologize.
July 18th, 2008 at 10:04 am
Hip Hip Hooray for Mare! Now, if I could only get MY 9 year old to understand this concept, instead of falling short to the bully girls words.
July 18th, 2008 at 10:21 am
LOVE IT. Confession? I would have been coddling and apologizing a bit… My daughter has gone to school and missed a dress up day that I forgot, and she got upset–no crying but plenty of blaming and whining. And other times, I have been proud of her for refusing to comply with some of the dress up days when they required a costume she didnt’ care for–but Mare? Wow. You are awesome.
July 18th, 2008 at 10:53 am
Go Mare and Go Momma!
July 18th, 2008 at 10:57 am
that? was awesome.
you did good.
mare did even better.
July 18th, 2008 at 11:00 am
I love your stories. And I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one who tells my daughter to STOP CRYING. She’s so sensitive, and I don’t want to squish that tender heart out of her. I don’t want to tell her she needs to ignore her feelings or block her emotions. And yet she needs to learn that she can’t go through life crying every time something doesn’t go her way. Why do I want her to learn this so badly? Because my own gut reaction every time something doesn’t go my way is to well up with tears, and it is embarrassing to be so wimpy. If she can learn to tough it up better and earlier than I have, maybe she’ll have things a tad easier.
July 18th, 2008 at 11:00 am
Damn Liz.
That’s all I got. You are so much tougher than me, but I’m taking notes.
July 18th, 2008 at 11:01 am
Mare rocks!
July 18th, 2008 at 11:09 am
sigh. will you be MY mommy?
(Does it matter that I’m over 30?)
I’m still a wimp, and wish to goodness I wasn’t. Mare is lucky to have someone to teach her that! I’m still trying to figure it out.
But I’m taking notes, too.
Peace.
July 18th, 2008 at 11:42 am
You go Mare!
If I can only get some semblance of the same message through to the Little Imp, I’ll consider myself having done something right after all.
July 18th, 2008 at 1:26 pm
You rock!
And thanks for not REALLY taking a blog break this summer. You’ve had some great stories to tell lately.
July 18th, 2008 at 3:38 pm
WAY TO GO Mare! Really, I’ve never developed that skill. What an amazing quality to pass on.
Becky
http://www.stinkylemsky.typepad.com/
July 18th, 2008 at 3:46 pm
AttaGirl! Both of you.
Oh, Thanks for not dying.
July 18th, 2008 at 4:22 pm
I’m so proud of Mare, and her momma!
July 18th, 2008 at 4:25 pm
Awesome, simply awesome. Taking notes for my own daughter.
July 18th, 2008 at 4:28 pm
I am still trying to remember that lesson whenever I get backed into a corner. It’s a hard one and I still walk away thinking I could have handled things better. What a gift you gave to her - she will never even have to think about doing it better because she’s right on already. What a great feeling that must have been - to see her be so grown up!
July 18th, 2008 at 4:41 pm
I got goosebumps reading that. I pray that when I have kids I’ll be half that brave and brilliant.
July 18th, 2008 at 4:44 pm
Mare kicks ass in such a polite way.
Deciding what is the best course of action while hoping for the most effective long term results is one of the hardest parts of being a mother of girls!
July 18th, 2008 at 4:50 pm
Simply amazing. congrats
July 18th, 2008 at 4:56 pm
That took my breath away. Sigh… To do this parenting thing right is a more enormous challenge than I’d ever imagined and I am so taking notes. Mare is awesome and strong and you must feel so proud. Oooh, I wish I could’ve seen her say that to that big girl.
July 18th, 2008 at 6:33 pm
That? All kinds of fabulous. You rock. And so does Mary.
July 18th, 2008 at 6:47 pm
Nicely done Mary & Mom
July 18th, 2008 at 7:20 pm
Awesome. I want my kids to be like that. WTG Mare!!!
And Daggumit, I want to be a mom with that kind of reaction time!! Big thumbs up for you too!
July 18th, 2008 at 8:08 pm
Kudos to you both. I wish I had that kind of resolve at her age… I would’ve been spared quite a bit of heartache.
July 18th, 2008 at 9:07 pm
I remember when Mare told off the postal guy. I can’t remember where you were exactly, but I do remember Mare asking the right questions like she did.!! WTG Mare. She knows what’s up!!
July 18th, 2008 at 10:34 pm
Weekly reader here, de-;urking to tell you how humblking it is to read entries like this one. I am so thankful that you are continuing to write.
July 18th, 2008 at 11:30 pm
Fantastic post. I passed it on to another woman (like myself) who can’t keep her shit together and needs this story. And by the way, I am not messing with Mary. I do not want her calling me out. Go Mary! And go you!
July 18th, 2008 at 11:35 pm
I’ve got goosebumps. Way to go, woman. And way to go, Mary.
July 19th, 2008 at 12:10 am
way to go mare.. freaking awesome..
good going momma… you did fabulous…
July 19th, 2008 at 12:20 pm
Hello, goosebumps! WAY TO GO, MARE! And way to go, you, Momma.
I was so nervous there, hoping she wouldn’t cave to the little meany. Literally holding my breath. What a big girl! What a strong, brave girl you made!
July 19th, 2008 at 1:22 pm
That is awesome. I too have one of those sensitive girls but she can be tough when she needs to which is more than I can say for me. I am kind of a pushover and I am glad she’s tough. Now if I can just teach her not to be tough with her pushover mother.
July 19th, 2008 at 4:26 pm
You and Mare kick some serious a*s! Both of you are fabulous women.
*fist pumps*
July 20th, 2008 at 1:22 am
that was beautiful, liz.
July 21st, 2008 at 9:35 am
Awesome post! You rock! Both of you!
I needed that this morning. Thank you.
July 23rd, 2008 at 10:37 am
If I have a “Fluff and Fold” in Chico, CA, you have got to have one!
Taking your laundry and having it returned neatly folded and hung on hangers WILL change your life!
I just wish I’d discovered laundry “take out” years ago!