My daughter’s away. Off on an east coast adventure with her cousins. Her aunt keeps sending me pictures of her hiking in the woods, swinging on swings, playing with bugs. Doing all sorts of things that my almost grown daughter would never do around home.
I miss her.
I mean, I miss her physical presence, but I know that she will be back in a few weeks.
But what I really miss is the old her.
I miss her uninhibited spirit that is becoming more and more hidden as she grows up. She went from the girl who skipped everywhere to the girl who points out how silly it is that a little girl is skipping on her way to school. She went from the girl who is happy in her own skin to the one worried about what strangers will think.
From the girl who never minded making a ruckus to the one that shushes me.
She shushes me.
I never thought I would be the one getting shushed.
I miss that she is showing a little, tiny bit of that spirit again, and I am not around to see it. To breath it in and capture it in the way I was too careless to do when she was four.
Back then, I told her I was going to write down all of the wonderful words she made up and call it her Fantabulous Fictionary. But I got busy and I knew I would remember them because they were all so wonderful.
We all know what happened.
I only remember a few now. Beesgusting: means even worse than disgusting, Gianormous: a little mixture of giant and enormous for extra emphasis, and Tinky: same as stinky.
Ok, the last one wasn’t really a made up word, she had a speech impediment and couldn’t say the ST sound. She also couldn’t say the TH sound so she pronounced it as S.
And that is how she came up with my favorite noun:
Me: Please don’t blow dandelions all over the lawn, daddy works hard to keep our lawn dandelion free without chemicals.
Her: But mommy, these aren’t dandelions, they are wishing sings.
Wishing sings, wishing things, dandelions. I’ve never looked at a lawn full of them the same way since.
And when I see one now there is always a little girl in it.
With a halo of blonde curls. In a pink seersucker dress and grey eyes busy, busy, busy taking in her world.
This vision is as clear as a photograph. Seared in my mind along with the words of the conversation. Because it was one of those events that hurled me right into the moment. Like a cable was hooked to me and I was physically dragged to another place.
The right place.
I can’t imagine what my state of mind was when I told my 4 year old not to blow a dandelion. But I know that after that moment I looked at the things she did through a different lens.
It was one of those clear moments of parenting when you realize what you are doing and what you should be doing.
But I’m a slow learner it seems and I wasn’t always able to recognize those moments when they came.
Yet, now I see this girl in the middle of a field of flowers and I know it will be gone soon as well. I want more dandelion moments, but it’s too late.
She is only 15, but she has flown away. I have to focus on the moments now, knowing they are what I have.
They are all I have.
And if I pay attention, they are enough.
(c) 2016 Gigi Quinn