they grow up

Despite my mixed feelings about the country of origin of Buttercup's new clothes, I can't help but admit how cute she looks in them. What really strikes me about this picture, though, is how grown up she looks all of a sudden.



Kids go through these jumps from time to time. Five years ago, we were at my mother and stepfather's house in Ohio, and Buttercup went through the first of these jumps I truly recall. She was just shy of two and fully in the midst of toddlerhood. Bopping around playgrounds, slurping down cereal bars, apple juice, and bananas like nobody's business, figuring out new words all the time, stringing together sentences. She didn't stop doing that, but one day her face grew up. She stopped looking like a toddler and started looking like a little girl. It was sudden, and I almost missed it—but for my mother pointing it out.

A similar thing happened a year ago when her end-of-year ballet recital was approaching. The day pictures were taken and costumes went on, I watched her turn from a little girl, a kindergardener, into a kid, a girl heading into the "real" elementary grades. Even though their dance was simple, the control she suddenly showed over her body and the way she stood changed. With her hair pulled back, gone were the goofy bangs and little girl moments — there was a kid, growing up.

The other day, I felt another of these moments approaching. She seemed to have grown six inches in a day, and her sense of self seemed to have leapt into the stratosphere. With the newly pierced ears and evolving fashion sense — each day's outfit is carefully crafted — she's become a whole new person again. Then I looked at the pictures we took of her outfits after the Hanna box arrived the other day, each tried on in different combinations, and in her pose and expression, I could once again see the big kid she's well on her way to becoming.

It's a remarkable journey, this parenting thing.

notes

That odd speck on the earlobe is one more step in our journey. It's a big step too. Getting the ears pierced was a chance for Buttercup to grow up a little bit and do something before anyone else in her class. For me, it was a chance to negotiate another stage of the parenting waters — my plan was to wait on the ear piercing until she was eight, but Buttercup Mère decided she was ready. We went back and forth a bit until I accepted that there was no point in forcing the matter.

The end result? Buttercup came home, proud that she'd gotten her ears pierced. She was ecstatic that everyone was going to be so excited, and that she was going to be the first in her class with real earrings. What struck me was how much older she suddenly looked.

Of course, there was one more perk: the next morning, she was ready for school by 7:15, and we got out of the house before 8.


***********************


Buttercup. That's her new nickname.

It came about one Sunday a few weeks ago when we were walking back from a friend's house. As we walked along Meadow Park, she started picking buttercups. One after the other she started rubbing them on her nose until she'd given her nose a shiny gold tint. I joked that I was going to change her nickname from Banana to Buttercup.

The next morning, as I dropped her off at school, she stopped me. She said, "Daddy, it's Buttercup."

"Done, and done," I said. Declaring her own nickname — one more little leap in growing up.

proud parent moments

Occasionally, your kid does something small that just makes you proud to be her parent. Yesterday, Banana popped out two pieces of artwork that fit the bill.

First, there's this piece from school. Her control of the lines and balance of colors is really remarkable. The lettering is also pretty impressive.



Later, at dinner at Sticky Rice, she colored in Piko with an equal flare. But it's her illustration of Reilly, complete with frame and narrative that really blew me away.


(Translation for those who aren't used to reading a six-year old's kidspelling: "My dog is a he. Name is Reilly. I really like him. He's very friendly to me.")

kids grow up

So Banana started first grade last week. What a difference a year makes...



Six is both more amazing and more frustrating than any age before it. By now, kids are developing a truly amazing sense of self—and fighting back accordingly. At four and five, the goofy sense of self and personal development was remarkable to watch, but at those ages, kids are still largely parroting what we parents tell them. Six and going into first grade change that.

At this age, kids become truly empathetic and truly seem to develop their own ways of thinking about the world. That little glimmer you saw in their eye at a year and three and four and a half has suddenly blossomed into a full-fledged human being. As amazing as it is, it's also very frustrating, but that's another story for another time...

rough mornings

Nobody said single parenthood after divorce would be easy. Regardless, the rough times always seem to catch me off-guard. Lately, there have been bunch of rough mornings. It's partly the age—five and three-quarters is no picnic—but it's also partly the situation.

Still, understanding that and understanding that empathy is essential doesn't make it any easier when the kid is, without warning, lying on her bed crying and saying, "I want mommy." Or saying, "It's not fair that you're divorced. It makes me feel sad when I'm at other kids' houses and they have their daddy and their mommy." Nothing has quite prepared me for what to say or do at those moments. Anybody have any suggestions?

*sigh*

Back to work.

toothiness

This weekend, Banana and I engaged in a bit of extreme consumerism. We each picked up a few new outfits and new shoes. Call it yet another foray into wearing both parenting hats. Anyway, she has been excitedly putting on new clothes each of the past few days — and lightly bemoaning her school's ban on sleeveless shirts. The most exciting part of the day was not, however, the shopping.

As the afternoon was wearing on and we had returned from the mall to take care of a few small fun things in Carytown — she got to buy a new doll outfit with the change we had saved — we stopped at Can Can for a snack. I eschewed Can Can when it first opened in 2005 because it seemed to be trying too hard to be a bit of Paris stuck in the middle of Richmond. Over the past few years, however, the place has grown on me. Their food and service are consistently excellent, and it is one of the few places I can sit at the bar with Banana. The bartenders are friendly and attentive, and there are rarely smokers in the times we might linger for a snack and a loaf of bread.

So that afternoon, we stopped to cool our heels for a bit. Banana got soda water and a bread basket, and I ordered an Oberon. We chatted happily with the bartender for a few minutes, then Banana said, "Daddy, my teeth hurt." "Which ones?" I asked. She pointed at the bottom front teeth. I reached down and wiggled one of the teeth, and my little girl's eyes got as wide and bright as the summer sun. She started giggling, then wiggled the tooth herself, then giggled some more. By the time we left, the bartenders and women sitting next to us had all heard about her loose tooth. I'm not sure I've ever seen her so genuinely excited about anything.

Friends have asked what the going rate for the tooth fairy is. It was a quarter when I was a kid, so I'm guessing a dollar is about right now. Inflation, y'know...

Mine

Banana is an adorable, smart, funny five and a half year old. She is also an only child, and she is beginning to exhibit--regularly--some of the symptoms of Only Child Syndrome. She forgets to share, particularly when she is tired, and sometimes she insists on dictating how other kids play with her. "No, you have to color the skirt purple, not blue," that's the sort of thing she's been known to say recently.

Based on some reading I've done, part of this behavioral development in the shift from five to five and a half--where well-behaved kids become a little bossier and a little more determined to show what they know. Part of it is clearly the fact that she is an only child, however, and conversations with a close friend who has spent a fair amount of time with her recently bear this out; she hasn't always played with the others in the way that we want her to.

As a recovering only child myself, I watch some of this with a little trepidation. Being part of community of parents and kids helps allay some of the potential ME/MINE problems, but I am beginning to realize that I have to pay close attention to head off the dreaded doesn't play well with others or share problems.

growing up

I went to Banana's last ballet class of the summer this afternoon. Because it was the last class and because there were only three little ballerinas, the teacher let us come in to watch. Banana is tall and well-coordinated, but I wasn't prepared for the little girl I saw showing off the moves she'd learned in the last several weeks. I wasn't prepared for the little girl in front of me.

These realizations that she has made another leap--gone from being a toddler to a little girl and now gone from being a little girl to being a big girl, one ready for kindergarten--hit at odd times. And when they hit, I am always amazed by the vision of delight and wonder in front of me. It's surprising and amazing to believe that I was part of creating this person. That she is a person, and that I am part of this person's daily development.

[rhapsody over]