Viva La Tooth Fairy

The surface of the shelves in Princess Commando’s room are a three dimensional collage of her fascinations, mementos, and imagination. A whimsical timeline of her life- Pokemon figurines from 4^th grade, the beach glass she held in her four year old hands, a rubber bracelet her older brother gave her to support some relief effort somewhere in the world, a fancy tin box with the words ‘Random Crap’ painted in vintage letters, birthday cards and special messages from her teachers, little creatures roughly sewn with her nimble fingers.

How much of myself am I allowed to be? It’s been the question of middle school. That potholed road lurching the wagon and jostling resolve. I tell her that as long as she keeps letting the goodness of her heart seep into the world, she should always to be true to herself. But being true is sometimes discomforting.  Sometimes it causes an unwelcoming glance or builds cardboard walls between her and those who are fickle to her friendship.

Being true and longing to belong becomes a tricky balance. As she is maturing, she is beginning to understand that she does not need to sacrifice her beliefs and amusements for others approval. But, she chooses to stow them safely away instead of advertising them like badges on a backpack. The shelves are the altar she kneels before to remember former comforts and certainties.

I was dusting her room one day-gingerly trying not to disrupt the order of things. But as I maneuvered my dust cloth into the tight spaces between the objects my clumsy fingers rattled the shelf and like dominoes the figures and trinkets tumbled. One little box and its contents spilled onto the table below. There were four baby teeth scattered between the lid and the box. And piece of paper folded a hundred times so that it was no bigger than a tooth. I carefully uncreased the paper. In her tight and tidy hand writing it said, ‘Long live the Tooth Fairy.’

It’s been two years since her faith in the Tooth Fairy dissolved. It was a milestone in her life- the first which marked a transition from childhood to preadolescence-an agonizing awakening. Seeing those baby teeth- the ones that fell out after a new truth was told- made me want to tuck $5 into the box just for her effort to remain reverent to the parts of herself that once were. I tenderly scooped up the little pearls and put them back in the box along with the piece of paper, fastened the lid and placed it back on the shelf. Even though so much has changed for her in flash of time, as long as that box remains up there, the Tooth Fairy lives.

I don't mind if he's here

Tank tops and old man socks

Unwashed summer copper hair

His stinky lair

I don’t mind if he’s here

I don’t mind if he is only starting to look for work

Instead of working

He works for me

Always wrangling the little one (a full time job anyway)

Anticipating when to get her out of my hair

I don’t mind that he doesn’t have a huge desire to get his  driver’s license

That he’s only just learning

I’m relieved that he’s not manning a vehicle by himself

Out of sight, on the road with lunatics

Away from me

I actually don’t even mind if his room is the black sheep of bedrooms

If he reeks

If he eats all of my gluten free cookies

and he’s not even on a gluten free diet

That he stays up late

Wakes up late

Grumbles in response to my suggestions about his life

That he doesn’t really know what he wants to do with his life

He’s only sixteen.

In a few months we’ll be filling out college applications

It’s a good thing our funds are all spoken for by our bi-weekly household needs

He can’t get too far away yet

He doesn’t want to

There’s time for working and driving and leaving

And showering so that you’re clean enough to attract a potential mate

I still have so much teaching to do-

How to wash laundry, make doctor’s appointments, order food at a restaurant ( that doesn’t serve chicken fingers); really scrub and disinfect a room; really take care of a dog (scratching behind the ears is only scratching the surface); balance a checking account and a meal; budget time; make difficult choices about relationships, finances, health; know when to call the plumber; shop for Christmas and birthday presents; listen to the women in his life and not try to fix them; live an authentic life- live and work and breathe with integrity…

The list goes on and on

I just need him to be solid and steady when he goes out on his own

To come home willingly when the call comes

And take care of me

one day

but for now, I don’t mind at all if he’s here

Shedding

I hold the sun browned, slender, softly muscled, soccer ball kicking, crazy-dancing, scooter riding, bird chasing, lazy- around- the- house leg in my hand. She patiently stands in the tub as I run the pink razor through the strawberry scented lather. Gently, tentatively I make tracks, lifting the downy hairs, her child’s fur. I demonstrate how much pressure-how to position her wrist-how to rinse the razor. The pajama clad little one wanders in claiming to have to use the potty. But she just sits atop the closed toilet lid- mesmerized by this unusual display of grooming in our bathroom. “Someday, when I’m big, you’ll show me?” she asks-eyes wide with promise. Her big sister is less enthusiastic about this rite of passage. She approached me with reluctant readiness to perform this ritual of young womanhood. Her classmates had been running around with smooth legs for a while.  She was beginning to worry that someone would make fun of her naturalness.

Just the night before, she fell to pieces on my bed questioning what it meant to be a girl when you do not fit in with the norm of your pink, shiny, boy crazy peers.

“It’s not fair that I was born a girl. Boys don’t have to worry about all of these things,” she wept- squeamish at the suggestion that she is developing and needs to wear a bra every day.

“I am not a girl. I am not a boy. I don’t know what I am.” She held a striped sundress in her hands, the one distinctively girlish item picked up to appease me on our shopping trip earlier in the day. She looks effortlessly gorgeous in a dress. But, dresses are straight jackets that suffocate. She is apologetic for her lack of girlishness. I felt awful for making her feel that she needed to be sorry for who she is and for not celebrating  her girl-uniqueness more. I pulled her onto my lap.

“I know who you are,” I said smoothing her hair. “You are cleverness, brightness, creativity and innovation. You are beloved sister, daughter, granddaughter, cousin, niece and friend. You are lover and caregiver of animals.  You are effort at 110%  You are persistence and sometimes manipulation (to this she smiles). You are athleticism. You are musicality. You are the artistry of illustration. You are imagination, dreams, childhood, innocence.  You are stubbornness. You are frustration. You are love. You are just you. It does not matter if you are a boy or a girl. Or if you wear dresses or a suit and tie. We love you for all of you.” Her body softened as she exhaled letting go of some of her worries about acceptance in her world. 

As we stand huddled in the bathroom she is stoic about this reminder which defines her gender -which sets her apart from her boy pals. But, as I run the razor tenderly over her legs, I ache at another reminder of the shedding of childhood. I hold my breath- wishing to pause this moment where her safety and security are still in my hands.

16

There is warm infusion of euphoria
which softens the sensibilities of a new parent
You marvel at the little baked potato bound tightly in your arms
no limbs flailing
no legs running
no mouth spouting off words to counter back on your requests
Only a perfect full face
as close and  familiar as the back of your hand
as distant as the face of the man in the moon
Time
Numbers
Do not matter
The grandparents, aunties and uncles descend upon the baby
and exhale sentiments which drift carelessly around your head
'Just you wait until he's a teenager'
'Enjoy this time. It goes by so fast'
You caress the words off of his forehead
There is so much space between this moment
and
the next milestone
So
Much
Time
You carry with you an idea of what certain numbers will mean
within the context of this new life
At one there will be walking and words
At two there will be tremendous growth, potty training and tantrums
At five there will be kindergarten and the first of many moments of letting go
At ten there will be middle school and a muddle of hormones and new independence
At 16 there will be wheels
But 16 is     so                    far                   away
In those first wee moments
time has stopped
You have a handle on it all
You will never blink
and open your eyes to find
a man standing before you
as close and familiar as the back of your hand
as distant as the face of the man in the moon
Yet there he is
and he's saying something about the car keys

10

Her birthday card. Because she loves hamsters.

Today is a big day.
Today my little
Blackberry,
Poopernutter,
Lovey Dovey,
Chickabiddy,
Princess Commando
enters into the double digits.
10
Soon I will blink
and she will be
driving ME
to Target.
But for now
she still
can jump up
into my arms
and I can still
carry her.
I think,
though,
I will always
be able to
carry her
even if
by the power of
some magic
hidden genes
she grows
to tower over me.

Don't Grow Up

The Baby is turning 2 years old at the end of the month and it is tugging at Princess Commando's heart. She worries that The Baby will magically change over night- become a rabid brat; a sour, unlovable demon who will no longer yearn for her older sister's attention or delight in the special moments they have always shared. I am working on a little project for Princess Commando, a book maybe, about an older sister's plea for her little sister to stay little. Here's what I have so far:

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