Rose and thorn
"I love roses. They’re so beautiful."
LJ and I were Valentine’s Day shopping for stareyednight, having agreed flowers were the best option. The kidlet wandered the aisles of the florist, more than a little lost in the colours and scents surrounding her. Her wistful little comment was uttered, I noted, without self-interest; it was genuine admiration, devoid of the pester-power undertones children sometimes have.
I asked her to pick the three best long-stemmed roses and, once she had, had her narrow the choice to two. Prompted to pick the best of the pair, LJ held out her preferred candidate. I took both from her hands and, saying nothing more, carried them to the cashier.
As I paid for the flowers, I watched LJ out of the corner of my eye. The range of expressions that crossed her little face was adorable. She was surprised I’d taken both roses… more than a little hopeful she’d end up with one… battling to hide her feelings in case of disappointment… and all the while resisting the urge to ask outright so as not to be considered greedy. But the best expression of all was the explosion of pure joy when I handed over her favourite of the roses and said: “Happy Valentine’s Day, kiddo. I love you.”
She thanked me, profusely, with an avalanche of hugs and kisses. Then she took my hand and let me lead her back home, too busy gazing rapturously at her rose to watch where she was going. Upon reaching the house she raced upstairs to grab a vase and a red ribbon so her rose would be not only healthy, but perfectly displayed in her room. And that’s where it stands proudly: on her desk, next to her bed, where she can look upon it and remember.
I don’t need a rose to remember the moment. It was a smile I’ve never before seen on her face - excitement, gratitude, disbelief, rapture - and therefore one I’ll never forget.
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I always knock on the door before I walk into LJ’s bedroom, especially first thing in the morning. It’s my concession to her desire for privacy; it’s also a nice way to encourage her to consider mine. But I was a little groggy this morning and so forgot… meaning I walked in on her using her iPad against the rules. She looked up at me in shock, bug-eyed, quickly swiped the application closed and shoved the offending device under her pillow.
The last, clinging vestiges of sleep robbed my response of anger or frustration. “I’d apologise for forgetting to knock,” I mumbled, “but it looks like you’re the one who needs to apologise.” And then I closed the door, went downstairs and started making breakfast.
Just last weekend, thebagbunny and I had discussed how effective a liar LJ could be, should she turn her mind to it. She’s so polite, witty, charming and predisposed toward honesty that, were she to fib, it’d be damn hard to pick it. And just yesterday, while we were sitting around with stareyednight, I quipped to LJ that I’d always be able to catch her in deceit because we “share a brain”. How prophetic that all seemed, to me, as I buttered the toast.
LJ joined me a few minutes later, eyes red from crying, and apologised. She was upset at being in trouble and upset about having been caught. She was even more upset when I questioned the sincerity of her apology. I wasn’t really, of course - I know her better than that - but I wanted to make a broader point: one lie, no matter how seemingly insignificant, can rattle a person’s trust in you. Heady stuff but, as we’ve seen, LJ grows more as a person when she knows the stakes.
She was lectured and chastened; her apology was accepted. Her punishment was administered; she took it like a trooper. I’m pleased she understood that, had she not tried to hide her transgression, her penalty would have been less severe. And I’m grateful tiredness blunted the edge of my temper, for the matter was as easily resolved through calm, disapproving discourse as it would have been justified frustration over rules being broken after just two weeks.
----------
Should you think any of this is a complaint… some sort of woe-is-me treatise on the way my daughter is growing up… let me reassure you that you’re way off base. These are the moments, good and bad, through which her personality is developing. This is the reality of raising a child, in all its glory - from innocent glee to ham-fisted, failed deceit. And it’s the thrill of my life to have both a front-row seat for, and a hand in, the formation of the person LJ is becoming.
Greet the Fire as Your Friend,
SF
LJ and I were Valentine’s Day shopping for stareyednight, having agreed flowers were the best option. The kidlet wandered the aisles of the florist, more than a little lost in the colours and scents surrounding her. Her wistful little comment was uttered, I noted, without self-interest; it was genuine admiration, devoid of the pester-power undertones children sometimes have.
I asked her to pick the three best long-stemmed roses and, once she had, had her narrow the choice to two. Prompted to pick the best of the pair, LJ held out her preferred candidate. I took both from her hands and, saying nothing more, carried them to the cashier.
As I paid for the flowers, I watched LJ out of the corner of my eye. The range of expressions that crossed her little face was adorable. She was surprised I’d taken both roses… more than a little hopeful she’d end up with one… battling to hide her feelings in case of disappointment… and all the while resisting the urge to ask outright so as not to be considered greedy. But the best expression of all was the explosion of pure joy when I handed over her favourite of the roses and said: “Happy Valentine’s Day, kiddo. I love you.”
She thanked me, profusely, with an avalanche of hugs and kisses. Then she took my hand and let me lead her back home, too busy gazing rapturously at her rose to watch where she was going. Upon reaching the house she raced upstairs to grab a vase and a red ribbon so her rose would be not only healthy, but perfectly displayed in her room. And that’s where it stands proudly: on her desk, next to her bed, where she can look upon it and remember.
I don’t need a rose to remember the moment. It was a smile I’ve never before seen on her face - excitement, gratitude, disbelief, rapture - and therefore one I’ll never forget.
----------
I always knock on the door before I walk into LJ’s bedroom, especially first thing in the morning. It’s my concession to her desire for privacy; it’s also a nice way to encourage her to consider mine. But I was a little groggy this morning and so forgot… meaning I walked in on her using her iPad against the rules. She looked up at me in shock, bug-eyed, quickly swiped the application closed and shoved the offending device under her pillow.
The last, clinging vestiges of sleep robbed my response of anger or frustration. “I’d apologise for forgetting to knock,” I mumbled, “but it looks like you’re the one who needs to apologise.” And then I closed the door, went downstairs and started making breakfast.
Just last weekend, thebagbunny and I had discussed how effective a liar LJ could be, should she turn her mind to it. She’s so polite, witty, charming and predisposed toward honesty that, were she to fib, it’d be damn hard to pick it. And just yesterday, while we were sitting around with stareyednight, I quipped to LJ that I’d always be able to catch her in deceit because we “share a brain”. How prophetic that all seemed, to me, as I buttered the toast.
LJ joined me a few minutes later, eyes red from crying, and apologised. She was upset at being in trouble and upset about having been caught. She was even more upset when I questioned the sincerity of her apology. I wasn’t really, of course - I know her better than that - but I wanted to make a broader point: one lie, no matter how seemingly insignificant, can rattle a person’s trust in you. Heady stuff but, as we’ve seen, LJ grows more as a person when she knows the stakes.
She was lectured and chastened; her apology was accepted. Her punishment was administered; she took it like a trooper. I’m pleased she understood that, had she not tried to hide her transgression, her penalty would have been less severe. And I’m grateful tiredness blunted the edge of my temper, for the matter was as easily resolved through calm, disapproving discourse as it would have been justified frustration over rules being broken after just two weeks.
----------
Should you think any of this is a complaint… some sort of woe-is-me treatise on the way my daughter is growing up… let me reassure you that you’re way off base. These are the moments, good and bad, through which her personality is developing. This is the reality of raising a child, in all its glory - from innocent glee to ham-fisted, failed deceit. And it’s the thrill of my life to have both a front-row seat for, and a hand in, the formation of the person LJ is becoming.
Greet the Fire as Your Friend,
SF