This past Thursday, when I was driving you and Zeke to school, we were getting close to the carpool drop-off lane and I saw a dad and his son heading toward the school. The kid was wearing a tie and my heart immediately sank.
"Guys, is it picture day today?"
Zeke said, "yes."
You, with your purple-y mauve-y hair, clean but frizzy and sticking up from having taken a bath and then gone to bed with a wet head, started to cry. You were wearing leggings and a t-shirt. You looked fine, but it wasn't one of your more glamorous days.
"I don't look nice for picture day," you wailed. " I don't look pretty."
"Honey, you do look pretty. Your pictures will come out fine. Don't worry."
"No, I don't. I look ugly. My pictures will be terrible."
I dropped you and Zeke off and then parked the car. I needed to go up to the front office get the forms to fill out so that you could get pictures taken at all.
As I walked through the playground, I saw you with your arms around one of your friends as you sobbed with your head on her shoulder. A gaggle of little girls surrounded you, all rubbing your back.
"It's OK, Josie. It'll be OK."
It was utterly pitiful.
When you saw me there, you came and buried your face in my belly as you cried and cried.
"I can't go to school. I don't look pretty."
You were inconsolable.
"Don't worry, sweetie. It's going to be ok. I'll fix everything. I'll go home and bring you a pretty dress and something to fix your hair. I promise you'll look pretty. I'll take care of it."
I walked you up to your classroom when the bell rang. As I went to leave, I saw Zeke in the hall.
"Is JoJo ok?" he asked.
"She'll be fine. I'm going to go home and get her something to change into."
"Can you bring me a nicer shirt?" he asked. He was wearing a plain blue t-shirt.
"Sure. I'll bring something with a collar."
He smiled at me and went back to his class.
Two hours later, after I had delivered to Zeke his Polo shirt, I stood with your class as it lined up for pictures. I pulled you into the girls' bathroom and helped you change into a dark pink polka dot dress. Back out in the hall, in line with your class again, I gave you one of my old necklaces to wear, brushed your hair, smoothed it down with a de-frizzer, and clipped it back with a big flower barrette.
I felt like a stylist at a photo shoot.
It did the trick. You looked beautiful and polished and photo-ready. You and your friends giggled and held hands. You were happy again, which was what really mattered to me. Looking pretty was important to you, so I didn't hesitate to make you feel that way.
I thought about that today, your eighth birthday, when I was thinking about writing your birthday post. That incident, and its juxtaposition with your birthday party today, in which you fearlessly climbed walls while dressed in a Wonder Woman costume, encapsulated what you are right now.
Thursday you were all uncertainty and nervousness, worried about not looking pretty. Today you were all fierceness and confidence. Two sides of yourself, often at war. Sometimes you need me to boost you up, to convince you that your confidence is warranted. Other times you flex your muscles and acknowledge me from afar with a sly wave, as if you know that I'll be there, but you don't need me right at that exact moment.
I try to gauge where you are and adjust my behavior accordingly. I push you to have strength and independence, but will be there if you need to fold yourself into my lap.
I cheer you on when you're riding your scooter with the stoners at the skate park.
I wrestle and do gymnastics with you while we wait for Zeke to finish his football practice. I encourage your means of self-expression, be it pink or purple hair, leather skirts and motorcycle boots and crushed velvet baseball caps.
I feel a great responsibility to let you figure out who you are while making sure you know that I'm here to help you if you need me or want me. It's a beautiful dance that we do.
And you make me so proud. You're so funny. You're such a kind friend. You're so clever. You're so brave. You're such a sassy monkey. You're such a weirdo.
Being your mother thrills me. I absolutely adore you.
Happy birthday, my love. Spread your wings and fly. Be bold. Know that I'm here to catch you if you fall.
All of the love in my heart,
Mama
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