Faith recently marched upstairs, armed with a garbage bag, explaining that she was going to gather toys to give to goodwill, and of course, Connor followed her up with a bag of his own, declaring, "Me too!" We recently rearranged her room, and it was already "junked up" again...she had enough.
After about 7 minutes of rooting around and a few outbursts, both kids came downstairs, bags in hand. Connor's bag was clearly the reason for the outbursts, as it contained many of Faith's dolls, which were new Christmas presents and some of her new clothes. Faith's bag was a bit more telling - it was full of "baby things" like princess crowns, dress-up clothes and play shoes. I looked through the bag with a bit of surprise, and asked her if she was sure about what she had gathered.
"Yes, mom. Those things are for toddlers, and I am not a toddler. I don't wear princess crowns and I don't play dress up. You can give those to other kids who need them."
As quickly as that, Faith had packed up her toddler-hood into a tightly drawn trashbag. And that was it. She marched right back upstairs to continue to "organize" her messy little room.
Moments like those make me want to stop the world, pull her onto my lap, squeeze her tight, kiss her little neck and make her giggle. Those kinds of moments lead me to nights where I want to pull my sleeping babies into my bed, or better yet, crawl in with them. Where on earth did Faith's six years go? How in the world can Connor be three?
That toddler-toys-in-the-trashbag moment came back to mind this morning as I asked my little girl if she wanted to do her own ponytail today. Like a flash, she was out of bed, teeth were brushed, and she was dressed and seated at her new vanity. She struggled through tangles, winced through knots, and finally gathered her hair into a haphazard side-pony, complete with a friendship bracelet clipped into the front for a fancy finishing touch. To be plain, it was quite terrible, but she was quite proud.
I ask Kevin to help me out, "Daddy, what do you think of Faith's ponytail?"
He diplomatically said, "I love where it is, and I like the clip, but I think that Mommy needs to use the brush to smooth out the lines."
"Where? I don't see lines."
So, I swooped in, while she was still contemplating how there could be any imperfections, just to smooth out the rough patches. I removed the ponytail holder, and all hell broke loose. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw set. I crushed her...completely crushed her when I pulled out that pony. I offered advice, I offered to let her do it again...nope...the damage had been done.
As quickly as that, she set me straight, "No, Mom. Mine wasn't good enough. You do it [tears welling up]."
Then I realized that all I really wanted was a do-over. I wanted to leave that snarly-looks-like-she-slept-in-it ponytail in her head and send her to school with a shrug of my shoulders which said, "Hey, what can you do?" But instead, I was left to deal with a sad-faced, pout-lipped little girl with a perfectly smooth ponytail...I drove her to school wishing I could have loved her pony just the way it was.
Faithy girl is over her pretty dresses and party shoes and into trendy outfits and big-girl boots. Her look is becoming much less fairy-princess and much more edgy-fashionista...and I'm okay with that. Honestly, I am.
But, I guess her independence just caught me by surprise today - who knew that her ponytail could mean so much to her? Then again, who knew a princess dress could mean so much to me?
I can promise that tonight you will find me giving ponytail tips while playing with her Cabbage Patch Kid and Target Brand "American Girl" Dolls...all while wondering when those will get packed up and given away because they are "kids" toys.
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