I usually react with skepticism to unsolicited advice people give me. It's a side effect, I think, of my problems with authority. When Quinn was brand new, everyone I encountered who had already had a kid told me to "enjoy every minute," because, they said, "it goes by so fast." Those first days didn’t go by so fast, but these days...these days definitely do.
The highlight of our brief summer was the much anticipated arrival of our dear friends from Wyoming whom we visited last year. That visit was a huge success on many levels. Quinn and Eloise were adorable together, but also always on the brink of some small violence. Either giggling wildly, or crying. We spent the visit on guard, to be sure there would be no regrettable incidents.
This time was different. The girls talked. They negotiated. They teased and encouraged each other.They still fought some, and pouted some, but they played a lot, and ran off on their own to do things. Eloise has continued to grow into a tolerant older sister type for Quinn, smiling knowingly with a roll of her eyes when Quinn demands to “be the leader!” or choose her bowl first. And Quinn was happy to be the host this time--she has a lot of ideas and a lot she gets excited about; she was eager to share her world with her friend.
Before their arrival, Quinn and I assembled a “summer bag” for Eloise, and I assembled one just like it for Quinn. Nail polish in multiple colors, new markers and paper, some books to read, some beads for necklace making, glow sticks, matching lunch bags for our planned picnics, and some new fairy wings.
It poured rain for the first twenty-four hours of their visit, so we painted finger nails and toe nails, played with sticker books, watched Eloise run outside to dance in the rain. We cooked dinner, made cocktails, talked fast and loud, our conversations scattered in the chaos and punctuated with laughter. And over the course of the week, we went for hikes, and picked berries, and had bbqs, and played hide-and-seek, and had dance parties, and went to the farmer's market and for night walks, and roasted two marshmallows. And the days went by too fast.
When we said goodbye last July, it felt like we wouldn’t see them again for an eternity. But when they arrived at the end of this July, it felt like only five minutes had passed. Except we noticed, right away, how much time had passed. Last year at this time, the girls, who are 7 months apart in age, looked like this:
...No edges, just soft, round, fleshy faces.
Now there are cheekbones where baby faces used to be. And dimpled cheeks and chins. Their noses crinkle. The angles are taking shape. All the days go by too fast.
I still catch myself saying my daughter is a toddler...but she’s not anymore. She’s a little kid. A beautiful, intense, smart, funny little kid. And she is in the midst of some big change right now...some new developmental leap, again. They seem to happen so quickly. Just when I think I’m getting to know her, she evolves into someone totally new. And the Quinn who is emerging right now is amazing me.
She’s still the girl who will go to blows with anyone who wrongs her. Last summer, at an outdoor festival in town, she was playing with a pile of giant blocks. Two five or six year old boys came along and grabbed one out of her hands and walked away. She knew one of the boys from her daycare; she didn’t know the other one, and she didn’t care to. I watched her scream at them as they walked away, and then I watched her run at them. She grabbed hold of the block and gave it her all trying to get it back. Soon she was on the ground, wrestling a much older, much bigger kid; Quinn had not yet turned three. When I went in to break it up, she was outraged that I was pulling her away. She knew the boys had been in the wrong and she was determined to make it right. I’ve watched this play out many times with other kids over this past year too. And I’ve also watched her be the one in the wrong, grabbing something she wants away from someone else.
Some of her rages, usually directed at us, have been nothing short of incredible...like the two times we had to go to the doctor this year, when she thrashed and kicked and screamed, at the top of her lungs, “Don’t touch me!!!” Or the time recently when she screamed at me because I was making her leave her daycare before she wanted to...she screamed out the door, to the car, into her seat, all the way home, out of her seat, and up to the porch. And she sat there screaming, at the top of her lungs, while I went inside and opened and drank an entire beer...and still when I went upstairs and took a hot bath. She screamed for over an hour and was still screaming after I got dried off and dressed. At that point, I kneeled down on the floor and she came over to me, still screaming and flapping her arms like a deranged bird. Then she sat on the floor in front of me and took a couple of spastic breaths. I asked her if she was ready to talk about it. She nodded, yes. Within a minute, she admitted to having been wrong, apologized for screaming at me, told me she loved me and gave me a hug. Then we went down and cooked dinner.
That’s what’s new: her capacity for self-awareness and her willingness to accept responsibility for her actions. Her ability to talk things through.
On another day when I picked her up, she ran over to give one of her friends a goodbye hug. One of her other little buddies ran up and said, "I want a hug too!" I was surprised and disappointed when she told him, "No thanks. I'm only giving one hug today." She tried to walk away, but I stopped her. I tried to coax her, feeling bad for the little guy who waited expectantly, a little smirk on his face. She never gave in. I apologized on her behalf to the little friend, tried to make light of it for him. He just turned and ran off to play--no lasting damage it seemed. When we were out of the backyard and out of earshot, Quinn turned and looked at me. "Mom," she said, "I don't want to give hugs to people who are mean..." I felt so surprised and stupid; why hadn't I trusted her? "I'm happy to give hugs to friends who are nice to me, but that friend wasn't nice to me today. Okay?" She seemed surprised too, like she couldn't believe she had to explain something so obvious to me. Sometimes, she's so grown up.
Just like last year at this time, as she was getting ready to move into the older kids’ room at her daycare, Quinn is primed right now for change. And the timing is good because this week she started pre-school, two days a week.
Back in March, when I took her to her pre-school screening, I wasn’t sure she would be ready. She’s been in the same daycare for three years. She is safe there, and she loves her people. Most days, she won’t leave without giving her teachers (and sometimes her friends) goodbye hugs. When she entered the pre-school room at the screening, and was invited to play with the other kid who was being screened at the same time, she instead clung to me. She climbed on and around my chair for the whole length of my parent interview and, by the time they asked me if I had any concerns about her development or behavior, I’m pretty sure she was draped over my head. “No concerns other than this one, obviously.”
With that memory still fresh, I was nervous about her start at Spring Hill School--a place that has a cult following in our community, and a reputation for “magic." I’ve heard that word countless times from starry-eyed teenagers and adults who seem to get lost in their memories of the place. Quinn isn’t usually starry-eyed...she tends to be a bit more piercing and direct. I worried she’d treat her new teachers like her doctor. Or have a first day throw down with one of the starry-eyed classmates of her future.
In preparation for the year, Quinn had to choose a name symbol. When I asked her about it one day, without looking up from what she was doing, she said, off the cuff: “sheep.” But then we found out the director of the school is the sheep. Quinn’s next choice was bobcat (having just seen one at her grandparents’ house in Pennsylvania). She's been telling everyone, proudly, "I'm the bobcat kitty!" When we met the director on the first day, I was sure to warn her: sheep and bobcats don’t typically get along.
But they did get along. In fact, Quinn’s first day of pre-school was epic...for both of us. I was worked up like I had been on her first birthday...determined that everything should be perfect, and eager to soak in every single sentimental second of it. Sam, on the other hand, treated it as he does every other day--nothing new, no big deal. But when we picked her up at the end of the day, it was clear it was a big deal...in fact, it was a very big deal.
We pulled into the parking lot and heard her scream to us from the swings. She ran across the playground and up the stone steps and stopped at the top where our paths intersected. She threw her arms open wide and screamed out with joy, “I HAD A GREAT DAY TODAY!!!!” She talked a million miles an hour, nonstop. She wanted to play some more and wanted to show us around. She handed us a drawing she did and explained, "I made it to celebrate you." It was hard to get her out of there, but we eventually did, and she talked about it for the rest of the night, telling us over and over again, “I had a GREAT day Mom and Dad!!! A great day! A really great day! I had such a great day.”
She was still talking about it this morning when she went back to her regular daycare for her Friday schedule. Alanna was there to greet her, her first teacher and someone I will always love for the way she’s loved my girl. Quinn screamed her news: “I had so much fun! And I didn’t do none cryin’! And I wasn’t shy with anyone! I just talked and talked and talked. I was so good! Actually...I was great!”
She was still talking when I noticed Alanna’s eyes filling up with tears, and then mine spilled over too. “I’m so proud of her,” Alanna said, “I could cry!” And I’m so grateful, I thought (but didn't manage to say), for all the people and experiences that are helping her shine.
"...So much sunshine to the square inch." -Walt Whitman
