Equilibrium

Out of the 6,457,321,412 theories of child development currently available, one posits that every 6 to 12 months (or so) a child cycles in and out of equilibrium. Disequilibrium isn't bad and it's opposite good nor are the "off" years solidly hellish or the "on" years strictly blissful. Simply, during periods of disequilibrium a child is coming into a new level of awareness, facing the challenges that come with any new phase of developmental growth. This just necessarily makes things more fraught for both parent and child. Eventually the kid gets a handle on things, leading to the more pacific period of equilibrium. Around here it seems to be the odd numbered years that are toughest and the good news is that The Child turns 12 in a week.

There are signs that we are trending according to form. Since Christmas The Child has been more mature, more mellow in her responses. She's been more organized in her school work (which is so huge), more easily accepting responsibility for herself and her stuff. She's taken on cooking at least one dinner a week (this week she's doing two). It's been a lovely reprieve because she really can be a lot of work.

I say this fully aware that I myself was a bit of a challenge. I was never one of those rotten, sneaky kids. (In fact, my mom has told me that sometimes she wished I'd be a little less forthcoming). But I did have a 'tude. I was rebellious in attitude, always questioning why rules were in put in place (given that they were all so very stupid), why I had to do things my peers didn't. I was pretty sassy, partly because I hadn't figured out where being funny ended and being disrespectful began. (I don't know that I have it down yet but now I'm a grown-up so I get away with more). The Child seems to have inherited these traits and frankly, on balance, I'd rather have that then one of those cherubic faced Eddie Haskell types. But it can get exhausting dealing with a person of such strong will and spirited temperment.

The Child was supposed to be born on the 15th of January but she hung around until forced out with a castor oil cocktail and I've always seen her refusal to be born on time as a sign of her general MO. She likes things her way, in her time, with her embellishments and one of the great challenges of her young life is learning that the world doesn't always accomodate that.

I grant you, these qualities of strength and determination are wildly wonderful. I think they are especially important because it's starting to look like The Child is going to grow up to be blonde, willowy and beautiful. Having a strong mind behind that pretty face is a gift. But the gift, Grasshopper, must be used for good and not for evil and the fundamental task The Spouse and I are presented with is helping her figure that out. To do that we have to set intelligent limits (as opposed to shooting our mouths off in the heat of the moment) and hold an unflinching line where flinching will not do. Doing so guarantees that she will argue, plead, justify and, if necessary, challenge our authority again and again. We then must stand firm even as we are told how unfair, cruel and dense we are.

Last night I was watching "You've Got Mail" for a little bit. There's a scene where, after she's been forced to close her bookstore, Meg Ryan's character is standing in the door, looking back in the empty shop. She remembers dancing there with her mother, with this sweet ghostly image twirling through the room, loving mom spinning a 6 or so old daugher. And I started to get all weepy because we are already passed that stage. I can't easily twirl my gangly legged child any more. As swiftly as the early years passed, these tween-to-teen years are coming at us even faster. Crap, in 2.5 years she'll be in high school. Just makes me go cold sometimes.

That said, there have been times when for a mere nickel I'd have sold The Child to the first gypsy that expressed an interest and I'd have thrown in a goat to sweeten the deal. But that aside, I love that my girl isn't one of those boring kids with all the verve of pudding who don't give their parents any grief because they aren't really interested in much of anything. I'm starting to see glimmers of the woman The Child could become and like what I see, even though this morning she couldn't say a word to me without rolling her eyes.