Amidst the busy house-hunting and birthday party planning, Spring has crept up on us. It's been a lovely combination of cooking outdoors, open windows, fresh air, singing birds, early sunrises, flowers blooming, long walks, and sidewalk chalk.
Tonight, Lilah Rose and I chatted and had a spaghetti dinner while she (inaccurately as always) recounted her day with her father. "Yeah, and then he yelled at me. Well. He really just talked to me. And I talked to Susan."
"From Monsters vs. Aliens?"
"Well, I talked to Derek (Dano's classmate). He and Daddy watched me run. They read stories."
After dinner, we walked down to the park. We played on the slide for awhile and Lilah tried hard to bond with a school-age boy who smiled at her but didn't want to engage in play with a toddler. We saw a commotion at the top of the big sledding hill, so we made our way up to see what it was all about. We found about 15 people of various ages gathered to watch a man harnessed to what looked like a paragliding wing. When the wind would pick up, he'd pull the strings and try to ride the breeze. He made it off the ground a few times, but the wind was too weak.
There was a gaggle of middle school girls dressed in Abercrombie shorts and expensive-looking shoes. I pondered the practicality of white leather flats on a dusty hill at the park and unwittingly overheard the terrible conversation that wafted away from them. The majority of them had situated themselves on the other side of the railing from one girl in sweatpants and a t-shirt. They taunted her about nothing in particular and she pretended to smile and read a magazine. When the other girls turned back to watch the athlete try to fly again, the lone girl surreptitiously wiped a stray tear away. I wanted to walk over and hug her. Tell her it would all get better and someday she'd be gloriously successful, well loved, and have an amazing life. I wanted to grab a fistful of the ring-leader's hair and throw her down the hill by it. In settling down in a good spot to watch, Lilah and I passed by the girl. We made eye contact and I smiled as warmly as I could at her. She smiled tremulously back and scooted 6 inches toward us. Lilah waved and smiled as well.
Feeling a little ill and protective of my daughter's innocence, I herded Lilah away from the vipers and back toward the park. She waved at the paraglider and called out behind her, "Good luck!" I laughed. She informed me she thought he was going to make it, going to fly. And then she would fly too, fly in the sky like a bird.
"My baby bird!"
"I'm not your baby bird, Mama. I'm Lilah!"
She held my hand cheerfully and I vowed to myself to do everything possible to shield her not from the world, but from the hateful, calloused bitterness that contemporary young girls seem to be more frequently acquiring.
Back at the park, Lilah ran wild on the slides. Two little girls about 9 years old were playing and Lilah watched shyly. A little blonde girl named Sarah was clearly the head honcho. The brunette named Kristin held fast to a sea shell about 4 inches wide. She kept filling it up with water and emptying it down the slide. She said it was special food she was collecting. The blonde approached bashfully. Lilah put her hands behind her back and beamed at the little girls. "Can she play with us?" I was enchanted by the polite, friendly girl. Lilah looked at me.
"Of course, love." Sarah helped Lilah up the high parts of the structure while Kristin, still vying for Sarah's attention, continued trying to make a water slide. She caught me looking at her in amusement and felt the need to explain.
"We're playing Indians." I nodded and pretended I had some idea what was going on. They played for an hour and the girls doted on Lilah. I wondered what happened to change adorable, playful little girls into vapid little harpies. What inspired cruelty to replace innocence? Is it a rite of passage, feeling out adulthood and working out identities? Is it avoidable? Could I do anything to preserve my sweet little child?
After awhile, Lilah's new friends took to hiding behind a wall and shouting insults at some scrappy little boys who were monkeying around on the structure. We took our leave of the park as the sun started to set and walked the two blocks home. It was a long two blocks. Lilah Rose stopped to inquire after every dog, cat, child, yard toy, flower, flowering shrub, stick, miscellaneous rock, and interesting-looking yard statue. An alarmed mother rushed out of her house having heard someone talking to her preschool-aged daughter who had been bouncing a ball in the fenced yard. Fearing a strange adult, she instead found a curious toddler with her face pressed to the fence after hearing a ball bouncing. The relief was visible on her face, and we chatted for a few minutes. "Hi. I'm Lilah. I'm 2." Her social skills are blossoming.
A few houses down, she was timidly admiring a couple yappy dogs when their owner called out the window, "Wait right there!" She grabbed one and brought it out to see us. He was a 4 month old puppy named Romeo. He licked Lilah's face and hands and she giggled rather than shrieked like a banshee. She's made progress with her dog fear this past year. We continued on home and she asked to see if Frank was open at the coffee shop. The door was open, so we stopped in to say hello. He was having a class so was open later. He offered me a drink but I declined, it being almost 8 and I did have plans to sleep tonight. He asked Lilah what she'd like and she cast me a sly glance and said, "Hot cider, please." I shook my head. "I want a cider, Mama!"
"I know, love, and I understand. But it's too late in the evening for a juice. You can have an ice water if you'd like." She fussed, the look on her face clearly giving away the inner struggle between fit and acceptance.
"Pleeease, Mama?"
"Thank you for asking so nicely, but no. You may have water or nothing at all." Heavy sigh from the child.
"I'd like water please. Excuse me, Frank. I'd like a water with one ice cube." He laughed and filled a cup.
"Here. Have two." We thanked him and made our way home. She was exhausted but happy. We'd had a lovely, neighborly evening and I knew she'd sleep well. I knew the social strife she'd been totally oblivious to would stick with me far into the night, worrying out some way to protect her, or at the very least equip her to deal with it. I'm doing the best I can so she can be all she can be. There's a whole lot of person-potential bottled up inside my daughter. More comes out every day, and I love seeing it. As I settled into the silence of home with Lilah occupied by a chocolate chip cookie, I remembered a recent study that claimed the more oppositional and opinionated a child was with their parents, the less likely they were to give into social pressures later in their teenage years. I smiled at the tiny, chocolate-smeared person sitting next to me. She'd do just fine.
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