Raising Her
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"Mommy, I have a HUGE crush on David."
Where did she learn that word?
"What makes you have a crush on him?" I inquired.
"Because he's so handsome and he likes to play with me."
He's good looking. He likes me.
"Is he kind to you? Is he kind to other people? Does he make you laugh?"
"Yes, he's nice to me and he's nice to my friends. He makes the silliest faces and that makes me laugh!" She answered.
"I'm glad you have a good friend in David. Those are good reasons to like somebody."
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"You should ask Daddy for help because he's a good worker. And you're a good cooker."
Don't ask for his help. Show her you can do it on your own.
"Daddy is a good worker and I like to cook, but I can fix things too sometimes," I say as I struggle with the car door. "Some families the mommy likes the cook and the daddy likes to work, and some families it's the opposite. Or sometimes it's two mommies or two daddies, or sometimes don't like to cook at all."
"Our car door is broked, huh mama?"
"Ian, can you help me with this van door?" I called.
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"Tickle tickle! Tickle tickle!" He joked with her.
"Stop!" She breathed through her laughter.
I said no. I said stop.
"Tickle tickle! Hahaha!"
"Please?" He asked.
"STOP!" I shouted. "She said stop!"
"But she's laughing" he said.
"But you've said no before" he said.
"SHE SAID STOP!" I said.
"Why is mommy shouting?
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"What is the most important thing to be when you grow up, girls?"
"Be kind," they replied, almost automatically.
But not too kind. You need to stay safe first.
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"What do you want to be when you grow up?" I asked her.
"Well I think I want to be a target worker...and a statue...and go work on the slope...and be a doctor. But I want to have lots of babies so I think I'll be a mom."
"You know, you can do both," I replied , "You can be a mom and a doctor. A mom and a sloper."
"What am I going to do with all these human ovens?" I overheard my boss say, as I felt my breasts start to leak and I quickly got up to pump.
"I can do both? But you are just a mom."
"I've done both. I'll do both again. You can do it."
"Tell us about how you multi-task in a professional setting?" they asked as they flipped through my resume and I struggled to come up with something other than " You mean, nursing an infant while wiping a toddler's bum and struggling with postpartum anxiety with an estranged spouse on the slope for 4 weeks at a time?"
"Yes, you can do it," as I tried to hide my sigh. "You can be anything you want to be, if you put your mind through it."
And if you put on your armor to shatter the glass ceiling.
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"I need to draw David a picture."
"That's nice, I'm sure he'll like that."
Is David going to draw you a picture? Will David even acknowledge the picture?
"Look at it, Mommy! Isn't David going to love it?"
But do you love it? Are you proud of it?
"Yes honey, I'm sure he will. Especially because you seem to love it and be very proud of it. I see you've put a lot of work into that."
"Yes, I'm proud of myself!"
She's proud of herself. Did I just do that parenting moment right?
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"And so Jesus taught us that we need to forgive, again and again and again," I told the children.
"You just need to forgive me," he said. "And then we can move on."
"But if someone hurts your feelings, does forgiving them say it's ok for them to do that? No, that's right, it's just asking God to take those yucky, sad, angry feelings from us and to fill us up with love again."
"Why are you so cold to me?" He asked, "You said you trust me again."
"Sometimes we have to forgive lots of times."
"Marriage is about forgiveness, sometimes multiple times a day forgiveness," the books read.
"God gave us the gift of forgiveness for us to move on and feel happy and love-filled again."
Forgiveness doesn't restore always relationships, I thought. How do I teach children that?
"In Jesus' name, Amen."
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"I don't hear a please and thank you," I told her. "Where are your manners?"
"Excuse me, miss, can you show me this item over here?" The customer asked.
"Please, mama." She said.
My stomach sank...you're being ridiculous, I told myself.
"Very good, girly girl."
"Yes, sir." I said as I reached for the tea seat. "This one here?"
"And now what do you say?" I asked her.
"Yes, that one there," he replied as he pushed his erection against my thigh.
"Thank you," she sweetly replied.
I struggled not to drop the $110 tea set as I set it down to rush away. "Excuse me" I told my sexual harasser, because I was taught to use my manners.
"When do you not have to use your manners?" I asked my daughter.
"When someone is breaking a safety rule."
"That's right. You can be rude or yell or kick and scream or call names, when someone is breaking a safety rule."
"I can't yell and scream at school," she said. "I'll get in trouble. It's against the rules."
"If someone is breaking a safety rule, you can do whatever you want. You won't get in trouble."
"I will, mama! I'll have to go to the principal's office."
"And your mom will march in there and tell them I told you it was ok to yell and kick and scream and be rude and not use your manners if someone is breaking a safety rule."
"You promise?" She asked me, quietly.
You're adding to her anxiety, I thought. You took a simple lesson on manners and made it fear based.
"I promise." I said.
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"I love seeing you smile when I pick you up from school. It's great to see you so happy."
"You're so much prettier when you smile," he said.
"But it's ok to be sad, too." I told her.
I smiled at him, reflexively.
"I was happy, mama."
He winked back and my stomach sank. "What did I do?" I thought.
"I know, sweet girl. I'm so happy you were happy. I just want you to know it's ok to be sad or scared or all of the feelings, and I want to hear about it no matter what."
"Ok...can I have a snack?" She asked me.
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"I'd love to see you wear your new dress to church today, honey. I think your grandma would like a picture of both of you in it."
"Congratulations on your new job!" she enthusiastically said to me.
"But I don't want to! I want to wear my cheetah pants and my flower shirt!" she yelled.
"Thank you," I said back, "I'm so excited about it."
"Please, honey? I think she'd love a picture of you on the altar next to the totem pole."
"Yes" she said, "you dress appropriately for the altar."
"No! I don't want to!"
Oh, I thought to myself, I was excited about everything I'd bring to the job...
"Wear whatever you want, honey. It's your body."
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"Come give me a hug!" He said, arms open wide waiting for those little girls he loved.
"Thank you for all your help," he said as he patted my arm, grazing my boob at the same time.
"Well, if they don't want to give you a hug---"
I froze. He's old, I thought to myself. Maybe it wasn't intentional.
"Come here!" he said, whisking them away.
Get your hand off my arm. Get your hand off my arm. Get your hand off my BOOB. SAY SOMETHING TO HIM. WHY AREN'T YOU SAYING ANYTHING?!
"They don't want hugs!! Maybe they don't want hugs! You could do a handshake, or high five, if you want. Or nothing at all!"
"But mama, I want to give him a hug."
She liked it, he said.
"Ok. If you want a hug, that's fine," I said, ignoring the stares at my overreaction.
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"You look beautiful," I told her.
"He thinks you look like an Oompa-Loopma!" the boy yelled across the middle school library.
"Thank you, mama." She grinned sheepishly.
I dipped my face down as my eyes filled with tears and my cheeks filled with warmth.
"You're the most beautiful girls in the whole world." I told them both.
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"When picking friends, it's important to pick friends that YOU like to be around, not just friends who like you."
"He likes you," my friend said. "He thinks you're really cute."
"I do! I like them because they want to play with me."
"I like him," I told my parents. "He's really great."
"What else do you like about them?" I asked her.
"What do you like about him?" my parents asked me.
The girl looked at her parents, smiled and shrugged sheepishly.
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Every parenting conversation, every moment, every interaction matters, I thought to myself. I can't let any of them go. What if I miss one, and she's not safe? She doesn't break the glass ceiling? What if she gives him what he wants? What if she thinks it's what she wants, too?
WHAT IF IT IS WHAT SHE WANTS?
Write, I thought. You need to write. The conversation matters. Start the conversation. Keep up the conversation.
Get it all out. All of it.
Except...nope. Not all of it. Because the most important thing, I remembered, is to be kind. And gossiping isn't kind, is it, dear?
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