“I hate to tell you this,” said my eldest as she arranged decorations for her birthday party, “but I don’t like these sparkles. They’re for babies.”
I was facing away from her as she spoke; this provided an opportunity to compose my face before turning around. “That’s fine, honey.” My voice sounded surprisingly level considering the vehemence of the eye rolling in which I’d just been engaged. “If you don’t like them you don’t have to use them.”
“It’s ok. They’re already out.” She sounded dejected despite having scattered enough of them across the table and around the cake that I knew we’d be picking silvery confetti out of the carpets for weeks.
Near the end of the party a half-dozen giggly girls gathered around the cake while a smaller grouping of boys clustered tightly nearby. Song sung and candles blown out, everyone tore into their treats as though they hadn’t just stuffed themselves on sandwiches, chips and fruit less than an hour before.
All but invisible now that they were busy with the food, I drifted into the kitchen unnoticed by the guests. “I love this cake,” I heard one of the boys say. Murmurs of crumbly assent drifted across the room. “And the decorations,” added a girl. “These sparkles are so cool.” More muffled voices agreed that yes, the sparkles were the very height of rad.
“I told my mom this stuff was awesome,” said one pert girlish voice. “But she didn’t believe me. She didn’t want me to put it out.” Apparently my daughter thought that if she couldn’t see me, I couldn’t hear her. I poked my head around the corner; her eyes instantly met mine and a look of shock burst across her face. She blushed mightily as I teased her, joking back with good graces when her friends joined in the attack.
She has to fight against me to grow up, I know. Soon enough the topics will move to friends, curfews and social expectations. Battles over birthday party decorations are only the beginning.
As predicted, even after running the vacuum cleaner twice I’m still finding sparkly confetti tracked throughout the house. Pieces wink up at me from the floor all the time, reminding me of how very much difficult and painful work is in front of me in the raising of this child — and how very much difficult and painful work she must accomplish in order to become a totally different person from her mommy.
Poignant. I’ve already been there. My daughter is nineteen and my son is seventeen, but I so remember those tiny steps toward independence. Your description of it as difficult and painful work is so apt … but the work is also intensely rewarding.
It is hard to know while it is happening, but those moments of defiance are promising signs, to me. They indicate a strength of will that will stand them in good stead as adults.
We hope.
elise
It’s taken me some time to see this from the viewpoint of clarity. Eldest is now 28 with 4 of her own. She’s fought me on (it feels like) everything from clothing to friends to tv shows and back. I’ve complained and been told by my three eldest (all now in their twenties) that I taught them not to back down and give in if they felt they had a valid point. I’ve lamented that sure I did but couldn’t they, just once, say ‘yes mom’ and concede my victory? It took a dear friend’s remark to point that if they will (and do) take on me, their mom… their greatest authority that I’ve little to fear in terms of them been run roughshod over by others. I’ve given them the ability to stick to their guns when required.
On another note, how well written this vignette was. I might add though, that as hard as they try to become different from their parents, many work just as hard later on to be just like them and that’s when the real payoff comes about.
Always enjoy the blog.
Thanks Bree. I do try to keep the ‘riting gud ’round hear. :)
My stepsister (in her thirties at the time) used to boobytrap envelopes for birthday and christmas cards with sparkles like that. Sparkles from that first year were turning up in the cracks in the parquetry, and at the edge of carpets, for years afterward.
The first time she sent my wife and I a card I had to snatch it from my wife before she opened it. She was indignant and offended as I returned with a large mixing bowl – until she saw what fell into the mixing bowl when we opened the card.
Good luck with the rebellion – at least she had the decency to blush.
Cheeky little thing.
Aahhh god I hate how that is. Nothing is cool until the majority of your friends proclaim it so, under the age of 18. I hope the girls yours is friends with are not as harsh as the children in my area. 20 years later and it’s still all the same.
Choose your battles wisely, grasshopper. Remember that every one is an opportunity for her to learn and grow. And likely, you too.
d
May God be with you! ;)