flashback

I just found this fabulous photo of Elspeth from many years ago, looking just as I remember her at that age. . .barely clothed, with who-knows-what on her face and an outraged look as if the world had betrayed her.

This photo was posted on a blog called "Mothers Seeking Sanity" that I set up shortly after Bea was born to be a forum for the uniformly crazy and lovely mothers I knew well then and still know.  I posted the first entry, citing that Elspeth had just climbed the stairs with human excrement on her foot, and then my friend Tonya took over and kept it running.  Eventually she gave up on the rest of us and started her own blog which you can find under my link list at the bottom right.

Now Elspeth has grown into a mostly-sane seven year old who rides her bike to first grade every day. On especially great mornings when she wears skirts, she looks just like the flying nun, all proper and collected, tearing down the road and over speed bumps.  She generally keeps all her clothes on now, though a few days ago I looked outside to find Martin, Elspeth, and Bea all playing a pick-up game of soccer with their shirts off.  At least she isn't growing up too quickly.

Speaking of which, yesterday I noticed Merry, almost 11 and developing at an alarming rate, was sporting a sprinkle of tiny little zits on her cheek.  "Are you washing your face every morning and every night?"  I questioned.  (Man, I sound like my mother.)

"Weeeell. . ." she began.  I know what that means.

"You need to," I went on.  "You're growing up so quickly."  I was gearing myself for one of the growing-up-means-such-and-such mini lectures that I've recently been imparting.

Merry gave me a look, half-pleased and half-embarrassed, and announced, "I don't wanna grow up!"  (She's a big fan of the classic, Peter Pan).

Martin joined us at the kitchen table and the dance between the two parents and the kid began.  It's a highly-skilled dance, often a good-cop/bad-cop routine but with roles that can quickly and seamlessly reverse, keeping the kids off balance just a little.  (My parents used to speak Bengali whenever they didn't want us to know what mischief they were planning.  Martin and I are depressingly multi-lingual; we've got the nonverbal cues down pat, however.)

"Oh, don't grow up too fast," Martin said like a big, magnanimous father bear.

Merry gave that peculiar, sweet look again, and it was almost a Halmark moment.  But I added quickly, before the conversation ended in lovie-dovies,  "Don't grow up too fast and wash your face twice a day."

Because there has to be some room--even as sentiment and love over our kids' fleeting childhood washes over us parents--there has to be some room for practicality.  It is our job to help them stay alive, after all, and I mean physically, spiritually, and socially. 

Don't walk around with poop on your foot, for example, and do wear a little deodorant for soccer practice and do wash your face.

But just between you and me, every stage is precious.  I loved Elspeth at two with her crazed impulses just as much as I love Elspeth at almost-seven with her amazing hula-hooping gift and blossoming reading skills.  It is a mercy, I suppose, that the bittersweet moments of parenthood (They're so tall!) are punctuated by the grounding moments of practicality (Put that down right now and do your homework before I take away a privilege.)  So happy parenting to all of you this weekend, whether your children are near or far, are yours or your community's.  And good luck.