I haven’t posted to this blog in a number of weeks. People ask me about it, and the only thing I can think of is that I haven’t felt inspired. This week, I’ve had pieces of the same conversation with three friends, and now I'm ready to write. About The Littlish Princess.
She goes by many names, this teenage-toddler, more than a dozen come to mind. She is wise and whimsical; cranky and content. A mystery I once held in my two hands. Some years ago. Fourteen. Next week.
My close friend, Maribeth, and I have known each other since our two oldest children were in preschool together. Last Friday we ordered our morning drinks in the coffee shop where we meet every week. I told her that since Christmas – since I started filling out high school applications, setting up interviews, and letting my daughter stay up as late as she wants on the weekends – that I noticed something new in my girl. I see the push-pull between where she is and where she’s going. And I marvel at the beauty of this stage.
Then there's Chuck. We have carried many secrets and pails of water for each other. We've been friends for 38 years - since the first time I wore a tutu. All right. Knock it off. I was seven. Yes, he has pictures and refuses to turn them over. His oldest daughter is already a freshman. We talked about her social structure and the culture of her high school as opposed to other schools. How social systems can only be understood within the context of their culture. He was confused. I told him that it was so obvious – because my daughter had explained it all to me only weeks earlier.
On Thursday my girl was home sick. A fever brewing. Brad and our son were out that night, and I was attending a rehearsal of my show going up in two weeks. I worried. She was sick and alone. We texted. I wished I was with her. Some dumb stuff happened and then rehearsal was over. The show is a piece that my friend Sterling and I are putting up together. I commented to him later that night how hard it was to be away from her while she was sick.
Some weeks ago, in his blog, Sterling posted “Poem for My Son” written by his dear friend, Nadine Thornhill. The piece is beautiful, vibrant, and true. I remembered my kids as toddlers, but, it wasn’t until I considered the verse cast in the light of their teenage bodies and souls and minds that I cried. When I read the last line, I said out loud, “And he always will be.” I suspect that Nadine’s verse has permanently woven its way threw my maternal narrative. I am certain it lit a candle on my daughter’s birthday cake.
There is something so stunning about the last semester of 8th grade. They are arms and legs and hair. They are questions and fears and dreams. They are adventurous and clingy and rebellious. They are.
I told Sterling last Friday morning about a great moment that I’d had with my daughter a few days earlier. I said it was “the best moment of the week. So far.” I've wandered around over the last few days thinking about the “Top 5” best moments with my daughter this week, and here they are:
1) Lying together in my bed, under the covers, for an hour talking all things girlie.
2) Driving to her rehearsal, singing to the cast album of “title of show”, and when I looked over at her, I suddenly saw her as a 24 year-old woman. Lovely and a little unnerving.
3) On the way home from rehearsal when my daughter showed me the bejeweled headband that her dearest friend and cast member had given her. A crown for the “Littlish Princess”.
4) “Look! A hummingbird!”
5) Curling up under my arm after midnight and asking if she could go to sleep right there – “like I used to”.
Sure. We break something in each other every day. We tear down and rebuild. We persevere. And no matter where she sleeps, she is my littlish princess.
Nadine’s poem captures my feelings so well:
“You were always you / And for too short a time / You were also / All mine.”
