parenting

In all the weeks and months leading up to sweet C starting school, I never, ever dreamed that I would find myself struggling to help her negotiate the nuances of female friendships within the first 6 weeks. I genuinely believed that I would have at least a year, if not more, before this terrible, wonderful, heart-breaking subject would have a place in our conversations. And yet this past week I’ve felt so helpless. How DO you talk to a 3-year old about friendship? How DO you teach her to be a good friend? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

When she started school, she quickly befriended a girl who lives near us. Let’s call her A. Every conversation we had about school was about A. It was all A, all the time. She declared A to be her best friend by week 3. She said she loved A. She wanted to play with A all. the. time. She lost her shit in a spectacular way when she couldn’t sit by A at school. She lost her shit even more dramatically when we left A’s house after a play date. I’ll admit, I was worried. A sometimes seemed a little overwhelmed by C’s overtures. And C started to tell me that sometimes on the playground, A didn’t want to play with her, and that she wanted to play with someone else or by herself. I explained to C that although I was so glad she had made a good friend, it was okay for her to play with other kids, and I made it a point to ask about kids other than A. I wanted her to know that it was okay to have more than one friend.

Along came friend B. As of last week, C is completely enamored with friend B. It’s now all B, all the time, and I know for a fact that her love for B has hurt A’s feelings. In fact A asked C “Why don’t you love me any more?” Broke. My. Heart. I know C is trying to negotiate how to have more than one friend. She’s 3. She doesn’t really know how. And in fact, I’m proud of her for finding another friend to play with when A didn’t want to play with her instead of freaking out. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t been unkind to A, because the teachers have said absolutely nothing to me. But A’s mom has been quiet around me. And friend A has seemed quiet, too. So I asked her mom if A was okay. “Yes, she’s just figuring out friendships.” “Oh, no, is it C?” “Yes.” “I’m so sorry.” Shit. She swears it’s fine. She swears it’s good for A because it gives them an opportunity to talk about this and figure it out. She took A to talk to the teacher about it yesterday and to talk about coping strategies. She insists C hasn’t been unkind.

But, of course, I still feel awful about it.

I explained to her that I’ve had a number of conversations with C about how it’s okay to have two friends, but you can’t just forget about your old friends. I explained that it was not okay to be unkind to A, even though she was now also friends with B. C seems to understand what I’m saying, but seems unable to put it into practice when she’s head over heels in love with B at the moment. We need to talk about it more. We need to come up with age-appropriate strategies for being friends with two people at once. But even so, I still feel helpless and lost about this.

And it matters so much, oh does it matter. First and foremost, over my dead, cold corpse will I tolerate C being a mean girl (no, I know that’s not what she’s doing now, but I’m just sayin’). Secondly, it brings back all the horrible memories of being treated badly by “friends” in middle school and high school, and I’d be lying if I said those experiences didn’t leave a lasting impression on me. Finally, I’m struggling to build relationships with the parents at school, and oh my holy social anxiety, it’s been HARD. I’ve never had to do this, and I’m so worried I’m going to eff it up somehow. A’s mom had been really wonderful and open with me up until all of this, and I don’t want for this to ruin a potential friendship with another mom. And finally, I don’t want to be a helicopter parent. I want C to learn how to navigate these waters, but the balance between guidance and straight up interfering is delicate.

And that’s it. There’s no grand revelation at the end of the post. No beautiful story of three young girls who work through their challenges and become the best of friends forever and always (at least not yet). I’m just worried. And a little sad. And exhausted by the fact that this is only the first of many more similar situations.

© 2010, OneShoeOff. All rights reserved.

Sweetest C,

You’re at school today, baby; it’s your first day there by yourself. We went together last Thursday for a couple of hours, so you and the other kids could see what it was going to be like, but today, well, today is the real thing. I’m sitting here at home, thinking about getting some work done, but I can’t stop thinking about you and how your day is going. The house is full of your presence and energy, and yet it’s too quiet. The crayons are neatly stacked in their boxes today, your toys are resting untouched. There’s no thundering footsteps, happy chatter, or silly songs. There’s no “Mama, will you help me?” or “Mama, let’s play.” And I admit, it makes my heart hurt. A lot. I know you’re going to do beautifully at school. You’re inquisitive and thoughtful. You’re friendly and kind. You love to talk to people and make up games for you and your friends to play. School will be the perfect place for you to grow into your beautiful personality. But I know that today marks a huge change in our family’s life together. You and I have shared so much of the past 3 1/2 years with one another. I’m accustomed to your presence in our day-to-day routines, and school….well, school is going to be the new normal for you. For us.

When I dropped you off this morning, we walked in together, you clutching my hand tightly, and yes, me clutching yours right back. We found your cubby, you hung up your backpack by yourself, and we walked into the classroom together. We had a quick good-bye. We had our hug, our kiss, and our “I love you,” just as we did in summer camp. I waved good-bye to you through the classroom door, and left you to be with your new friends and teachers. As I walked out of the building, I wondered if I would see you through the window, and sure enough, you were right there to wave good-bye to me once again. I blew you a kiss and moved out of sight, knowing that quick good-byes are easier for you than long drawn out good-byes. I wanted you to see that I felt confident about you being at school, so that you might feel the same way. Then, as I walked back to the car, my confidence wavered and I wondered if maybe it had been too quick. Were you really okay? Should I have stayed longer? But I made myself stop, take a deep breath, and continue the long, quiet walk back to the car.

A few months ago, your teachers asked each of the parents to write down their hopes, dreams, and goals for their kids this year. I shared a few of the most important ones with the teachers, but there’s more I want to share with you when you’re ready to read this. I want you to know that although I’m wistful and nostalgic about this change, I also remember what it was like for me to go to school, and it was simply incredible. I want for school to be as amazing for you as it was for me. I want you to wake up in the morning filled with excitement about the possibilities that school will hold for you each day. I want you to love it as much as I did. Because no matter what you learn in school, if you love what you’re doing there, the skills you learn, the confidence you will gain, the friendships you will make, and the love of learning that will grow in your heart will stay with you in beautiful, cherished memories and the ability to adapt and learn forever. Above all else, that’s what I hope for you this year and all the many years of education you have ahead of you.

So I will sit here and quietly wait until it’s time to get you. And when I see you, I will hug you tight and tell you that I’m so proud of you (and perhaps in my head, I will tell myself that I’m proud of me, too). And I will sit and happily listen to everything you’ll want to tell me about your adventures at school. And you and I will both be okay.

All my love,
Mama

© 2010, OneShoeOff. All rights reserved.

Timeline Illustrating Basic Child Development

Day 1: Gorgeous, teeny bundle of joy emerges forth from your nether-regions.

Two freaking seconds later: Gorgeous, teeny bundle of joy can run, jump, sass you in perfectly intelligible sentences, and is ready to go off to school.

I kid; she’s going to summer camp, not school. But I know this summer will just fly by, and at the end of the summer, she WILL go to pre-school. And then eventually kindergarten, and then she’ll be graduating college about a nanosecond later. I know I sound overly dramatic, but it’s hard not to feel like it’s all happening so fast (I am every parenting cliche right now, and I honestly don’t give a damn). I just want to hold her close to me with my face buried in her hair, enjoying the sweet scent of this beautiful little human being who is all at once so much a part of me and so much her own person.

The truth of the matter is that this new stage in our lives forces me to take stock of how far we’ve come in such a very short time. It makes me question whether I’ve been good enough, done enough, said the right things, prepared her in the right ways, protected her enough, let her explore enough, taught her enough, made her happy, hell, done enough damage in 3 1/2 years to necessitate decades of therapy for all of us. It makes me wonder if the decision to send her to summer camp and then to school in the fall is the right decision for her, for me, for our whole family. Do I know her well enough to know that this is right? Do I know our family well enough to know that this is right? What will I do if I’m wrong? Will I be able to manage it? Will she? What kind of mother will I be if I’m wrong? And how will she respond to these transitions? Will she be scared? Will she be shy? Will her teachers be able to see what a radiant, strong little girl she is? And yet, as strong as she is, will they be able to see how soft and sensitive she is, too?

Aaaaand cue sobbing. Here I thought I wouldn’t cry until she started preschool.

My sweet, sweet baby girl (and you’re still too young to get mad at me for calling you that, although I’m certain some day you will), I adore you. Watching you grow up is the most heartbreaking and beautiful things I will ever have the privilege to witness. With each passing day you make bigger strides towards independence, closing the gap between that helpless infant in whose ear I whispered promises of undying love, and that strong, brave, independent woman whose face I can sometimes see peaking through from behind your gorgeous, impish grins. And as hard as it might be, I love this path that we’re on. I love that you, you are my daughter. I love that I get to be the one to help you navigate this transition and whatever else the future holds for our family. I love that in the few short years you’ve been with us, you have, and you will continue to help me, too. I think we’ve done okay so far, and I promise I’m going to keep trying my damnedest not to screw it up. I can guarantee I won’t always get it right, and when I don’t, I’ll try to show you by example how to be humble, apologize, and make it a little bit better (and sweetie, this is an especially tough one for the women of our family). I can also promise that I’ll get weepy like this every so often, because loving you has turned me into a puddle of mush. So when you go off to your first day of camp, or your first day of kindergarten or middle school, or when you move away to go to graduate school, or head to the hospital to have your own baby, I will hug you a little tighter. I will shower you with extra kisses. I will make a fuss over whether or not you’ve had enough to eat, and I’ll beam proudly as you move on to your next big adventure. And when it’s all said and done, I’ll be ready to listen, to laugh, to cry, to comfort, to hold, to be your Mama no matter how big you yet. I love you.

© 2010, OneShoeOff. All rights reserved.