Our girls are ages 14, 12, and 9. So, if you’ve spent much time with girls of those ages you can imagine that at any given time there is a lot of emotional energy flowing through our home. On two evenings this week, just as my husband stepped into the house, I’ve said: “That’s it. Here’s the baton. I’m done for the day and will be taking to the bed.”
I’m not a dramatic or demonstrative person. But the Lord in his mysterious wisdom has given me three daughters (and a dog!) who are. They have big feelings, strong convictions, and expressive personalities.
Earlier this week one child asked if I would sit down and help her search the internet for a couple of swimsuits for the season. Within minutes, this mother-daughter bonding experience turned into a tearful mess. I kept saying, “We will not cry real tears over bikinis.” But you know what? We did. Well, one of us did. Because apparently I do not understand the modern “needs” of a teenage girl. And I stand in the way of her true happiness, at least this summer.
Today my youngest is dressed as a fashion designer for “Hobby Day” at school. But last night at 9 PM she shed a few tears because I was unable to spontaneously produce a beret and a smock for her to go as a Parisian artist. She also angrily informed me this morning that she’s the only one in her class who has to take healthy snacks. Mind you, those “healthy snacks” are in the form of Rice Krispy Treats and Pirate’s Booty. I shudder to think what she would say about me if I forced her to eat an actual vegetable.
And my middle one. She is perpetually displeased that I don’t have gel manicures and allow her to have them, too. Much like me, she often turns to the piano to express her frustrations. This morning as I write this she has been playing selections from Hamilton in between her virtual classes. But right now she has honed in on learning “YMCA.” Have you ever heard “YMCA” on the piano? It’s intense. Every few minutes I have to find the backspace key to erase where my brain is tracking the music and I’ve typed, “Young man, there’s a place you can go. I said, young man!”
If I were being dramatic myself I might say I’m drowning in my parenting struggles. But I know that isn’t true. I’m only one of many who have gone before me in this task of raising spirited daughters. And when I pan out and think about the long game, I’m sincerely thankful for their passion. I’m not drowning. But this is no lazy river either. So I’m over here doing a lot of deep breathing and some serious praying.
For the past year I’ve written in something of a somber tone because so much in our world has been heavy and hard. But I think I sometimes forget how to embrace the humor (or the ridiculousness?) of what’s happening around me in this life stage and allow it to bring a little more light and levity to our days. I forget to smile when my 9-year-old talks about Amelia “Airharp.” And I forget to laugh at myself when my 12-year-old accurately points out that I’m an indecisive over-thinker.
Parenting and pandemics and life itself is hard. But it is also rich and fun and beautiful. So thank you for bearing with me through 2020 and into this year. Your emails and comments and encouragements have kept me afloat.
Spring is here! Flowers are blooming! People are re-gathering! We have survived so much. And we will keep surviving even if we have to swimsuit shop with our daughters.
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