Life Lessons

I knew that it had been a while since I had posted, but I didn't think that it had been this long. I checked in a couple of weeks ago, saw the previous post then was too ashamed to start up again. It's kind of like that old friend who you haven't talked to in a while but both of you are embarrassed to pick up the phone and call each other then pretty soon the friendship dissolves. That is not my intention here.

So much has happened the past couple of months. We have moved and JillyBean is growing much faster than I ever expected. I will update on that soon - promise - but something happened the other day and I have have to write about it so that I can move past it. Hopefully.

We live in a new neighborhood that is filled with kids and most are around the same age - elementary school. Jilly has two little friends who we have known for about a year, and it is nice to have them so close by for play time. I love it here because it is nice to know that kids still actually play outside. I hear them running around after dark and it reminds me of summer when I was a kid. I was pretty shocked one night when I heard them outside our back window playing red rover. I didn't think that today's more sophisticated children knew about that game.

On Tuesday Jilly woke up from her nap and a group of girls and boys were at "war" with one another. Boys against girls, water gun style. Jilly wanted to go out and watch them play, so we took a walk. The battle had pretty much come to an end by the time we got outside, but the girls were making sure they were prepared in case the boys returned. Their water blasters were locked and loaded.

For as friendly and fun as JillyBean is, she has developed a shy side. I encourage her to "be brave" when she approaches new kids and when she wants to play with them. I let her know that if she stands back, she may miss out on the fun. So as we approached these girls - who are between the ages of 7 and 10 - she looked at me and said "I'm going to ask, mama." That meant she was going to ask if she could play with them. I told her to be brave and if she wanted to play that she needed to get closer to them so that they could hear he ask. She inched her way toward the group and kept looking back at me for encouragement. I told her to keep going.

Now, these girls are super sweet and they really enjoy helping out with the little ones around here, but I don't think they really know what to do when a two-year-old approaches them; especially when they've just completed a battle with the opposite sex. There came a point when an invisible line seemed to be drawn between Jilly and the girls and they just stared at each other. I stayed back and did not let the girls know what she was doing, just to see what would happen. Soon, Jilly retreated but I was proud of the progress that she had made.

What went through my mind next has been weighing on me ever since. I suddenly got a flash of the day when my child will want to play with a group of friends and they'll tell her that they don't want to play with her. I can see it now: she'll run home with tears in her eyes, heart broken not understanding why kids she plays with on a regular basis all of a sudden don't want to be her friend. Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes so I can't begin to imagine what it will be like when it actually happens. On the other hand, I am also sure that there will be a day when she will be the mean girl and say something like that to her friend, but that's for a different post.

For the past couple of days I have been playing the scenario over and over in my head. I don't know why I am obsessing on this. I think that mothers of girls have a very unique role compared to mothers of boys. The self-confidence of girls is so fragile and the desire to be accepted is so strong. I am trying hard to instill in Jilly that she is a very special and very loved little girl. That no matter what happens or whatever anyone says, she will always be loved by her family and, most importantly, by God. I tell her that she is lucky to have so many people who love her. I let her know that God made her a very special and that no one is like her. I encourage her and praise her uniqueness. I know that when you're a kid, though, it doesn't matter how much mom and dad showers you with love, if the kid down the street makes fun of you then it's the end of the world.

What I have concluded is that the best thing to say to her is nothing at all. When she comes home at 5, 15, 25 or even 35 with a broken heart, my job is to be waiting for her with open arms and a shoulder to cry on.