Blindsided

Just minutes ago, Girl was out in our backyard, transferring dirt from one bowl to another. Besides the dirt covering her hands and arms, her face was also marred, akin to "Pigpen" minus the accompanying flies. I had looked at her and thought how different she was than the little girl I imagined I would have. How different she was than the little girl I was. Or at least how I imagine I was.

By sheer coincidence, I had flipped through an old photo album with her yesterday, pointing to the little girl in the pictures and asking her who it was. "Jolie," she said. No, it's mommy. When mommy was a little girl. There I was, in one dress or the other, looking very girly. And clean. I never had a picture taken after making mud "cakes with meatballs", never played with a dump truck full of earth.

From the time she was little, she was fiercely independent and strong. When hurt, she would cry but refuse to be comforted by my arms. It was she who gave up nursing, not me (much to my heaving heart). At school, she is a natural leader, often trailed by several children following suit. When yelled at during moments of adult lapses of composure, she does not cry. Instead, she will put her head down and ride out the storm, only to pop back up as if nothing happened. Maybe smile. For this reason, I came to think that she was rather impervious to the usual insults that wound children. That wounded me.

My aunt, who has been staying with us helping to watch Boy temporarily, was getting ready for a night out with a friend. She doesn't speak much English and ordinarily, must deal with my remedial Mandarin for communication in her own native tongue. (This may be the topic of a future post, how my mother feels the need to translate my Chinese to Chinese for her, as if I speak accompanied by a perma-echo). So, getting out for an evening minus her ball and chain (us) and with a native Chinese speaker was to be a real treat.

My aunt's friend arrives and Girl commando-crawls her way across the kitchen floor in her usual strange-behavior-for-strangers way. The friend is nonplussed by the extreme dirtiness of Girl, at that moment resembling a feral child who has never bathed or been in the presence of humans. Jolie kicks off her shoes while still on the floor.  We apologize for Girl's six layers of dirt and the friend smiles, "Are you coming with us, Girl?"

It is a rhetorical question, and we make small talk before they make their way out. They are headed to get some good Japanese food in Virginia. Husband and I continue getting ready for our dinner guest, about to arrive momentarily. Husband's going to get busy with the grill. He is all about the grill.

Then, a small voice with the see-saw of impending tears says, "But, I put on my shoes."

I can't see her but I know instantly that she was waiting by the door. Suddenly, I know she had put on her shoes while we were all making small talk, with the glee of knowing she was going out to dinner. And as the door closed behind them, she was the only one who remained. Still facing the door.

Husband and I make eye contact. Oh. No.

We say in our cheeriest voices that she wouldn't like it, that restaurant, that we were going to have such good food and such a good time here.

The look on her face. She is crushed.

I know she will be crushed many times in life. Crushed over things far more heartbreaking and monumental than this. But to feel it now, like this, feels like the first time. Maybe because I did not see it coming. And I wonder how often will I stand, with the wind knocked out of me, for not seeing it coming and not doing anything to cushion the blow.

Comments

[flutter]

oooooooooof! This brought tears to my eyes! she must find some way to break your heart every day.

[Sus]

Since wittiness does not actually grow on trees, and my kid is still awake next to me drawing as I type this, I'll just say you said it girl. I was once crushed watching my daughter hold up her sippy cup to a childcare worker at church who didn't notice her and walked away. As she held it up to the empty space where the teacher had been, a bit confused about what to do next, I stood outside with a weight on my heart I never would have imagined could be so heavy. It's only just beginning for us, isn't it?

[Tranny Head]

Poor thing - I swear I think parenting is the slow dying of 10000 deaths. You know what I'm talking about - the first time you leave them with somebody new (and they don't cry!), the first time they walk away from you and don't look back. I think it's just cushioning the blow that eventually comes when they leave and go away to college.

And yet it's a wonderful slow 10000 deaths. I mean, we "raise" children, right? We don't always "nurture" them. They're being raised to stand on their own two feet so they have to learn. But it's awful that the learning is so painful! And so much more painful for the parent!

Jolie sounds like me as a kid. My poor mother tried and tried to curl and iron the feral out of me and yet I grew up to be totally feral as an adult.

Oh, and I have a tranny head. But I guess you already knew that.

[Mary]

Oh, how heartbreaking!!!

[jen]

oh honey, i know. i know. it's a knife to the freaking heart, that.

[qt]

oh god - there are so many more times, KC. But you won't ever be prepared for them, b/c that is life.

[Martina]

Beautifully written!

Those experiences with my kids give me right-sided chest pain.

[InTheFastLane]

And we won't always be able to take the pain away, either. Why did no one warn us how parenthood can hurt your heart?

[slouching mom]

it's their lack of knowledge about things we take for granted, KWIM? it can be so painful for them.

[Manic Mommy]

I can hear the little voice and it's breaking my heart!

They forget it in an instant; we remember it for eternity.

[Francesca]

Poor baby and poor mommy. What a heartbreaking moment. :(

[janet]

For not doing anything to cushion the blow.

Oi, there's the rub. Beautifully written post.

[rima]

Oh, man. My heart is positively breaking for Jolie after reading this post. I've seen that look before.

[Penny]

Incredibly written, as always.

"And I wonder how often will I stand, with the wind knocked out of me, for not seeing it coming and not doing anything to cushion the blow."

Lord, KC. I wish I could tell you that it'll get easier. I pray that it will.

I'm hooked up to a ventilator, these days.